


If I Had Been There

by alovra



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I'm pretty sure there will be card games at some point, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, So technically it doesn't actually happen but it can get graphic, Sort of an au on dsod, The violence warnings are for Bakura's nightmares btw, Thiefshipping, trans Ryou
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-05-07 22:11:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 60,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14680497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alovra/pseuds/alovra
Summary: "So…” Marik drummed his fingers on the coffee table. “What brings you here?”The politeness faded from Ryou’s face, growing more serious. “Well… There’s something I wanted to talk to you about, but i'm not sure where to even start. I know things between us are… weird, but I didn't know who else to turn to.” Weird didn’t even cover it, but they’d have to get past that if this was going to work.“Okay. I’m listening.”Ryou took a deep breath, sitting up straighter. He was going to sound like an insane person, and he had to be okay with that. “I came here because I want to get Bakura back, and I know how to do it.”-Three years after the loss of the Pharaoh and the Thief King, and nobody has really moved on. While Ryou may not have an inter-dimensional space elevator, he does have a plan to get Bakura back. Bakura does not adjust well to his new life, but if he can just let Marik and Ryou in, maybe he will get the happy ending he deserves.





	1. In Which Ryou Makes a Plan

Ryou took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. It had been a long journey to get to this point, and everything had led up to this singular moment. He had no doubt in his mind Marik would agree. But physically _being_ here, stepping off the plane into the desert heat, finding his way to Marik’s unassuming home tangled amid the busy streets… something about it _actually happening_ set him on edge.

He knocked on the door, ready to face what came next.

“Ryou?”

God, it had been a long time. Marik still looked the same as Ryou remembered, though he was dressed more conservatively, and he had gotten a bit taller whereas Ryou had unfortunately capped off at an unimpressive height. Marik’s bangs were slightly too long in that he had to keep brushing them aside, but they framed his face as nicely as ever.

“Marik.” Ryou smiled politely. “It's been a long time.”

“Yeah…” Marik looked away, scratching the back of his head. “Um, how have you been?”

Yeah, this was really weird. Ryou vividly remembered their last conversation, the embarrassment of it still wiggling its way into his mind when he couldn’t sleep. From the look Marik was trying very hard not to give him, Ryou knew he remembered it just as clearly.

Ryou nodded, ignoring the awkwardness settling on his skin with the sheen of sweat already collected there. “Yeah, it's been… it’s been good. Can I come in?”

Marik opened the door wider, stepping back to let Ryou in. He felt light headed, almost, dazed to have gotten to this point. His glazed eyes barely registered where he was- a boring house, like one from a magazine, not interesting enough to warrant his attention beyond where he should sit down. Ryou plopped into a chair, the jetlag hitting him hard, wanting nothing more than to curl up and fall asleep there. Instead he perched on the edge of the seat, crossing his legs awkwardly.

“I heard you guys graduated. That's cool,” Marik said, obligated to make small talk, or maybe just buying time to recover from the shock of seeing a ghost. It must be hard when Ryou looked like him. Ryou couldn’t face a mirror for weeks afterward, and sometimes he still caught the edge of something in his reflection and stared, searching but unable to find it when he was really looking.

“Yeah!” Ryou responded lightly, trying to set them both at ease. “I work for Kaibacorp now. I know, total sellout. But I feel like we’re doing important work.”

“Making duel disks..?” Marik ventured, confused.

Ryou laughed, a polite, meeting-your-mom’s-friends-at-brunch sort of laugh. “Well something has to fund Kaiba’s space program. And once the tuition from that fancy duel school they’re planning rolls in-” Ryou whistled. “Thats years off on the projections though. Don't tell anyone I told you. Or invest in stocks. Can't get in trouble, you understand.”

Marik smiled, nervousness in his eyes. “I don't think anyone would believe me if I did. So…” he drummed his fingers on the coffee table. “What brings you here?”

The politeness faded from Ryou’s face, growing more serious. “Well… There’s something I wanted to talk to you about, but i'm not sure where to even start. I know things between us are… weird, but I didn't know who else to turn to.” Weird didn’t even cover it, but they’d have to get past that if this was going to work.

“Okay. I’m listening.”

Ryou took a deep breath, sitting up straighter. He was going to sound like an insane person, and he had to be okay with that. “I came here because I want to get Bakura back, and I know how to do it.”

Marik scoffed, completely taken aback, eyes wide with disbelief. They looked dark in the afternoon light, less colorful, less alive. “No. No you don’t. There’s no way.”

“When have I ever lied to you?” Ryou asked, hurt by his response despite anticipating it.

“I barely know you!” Marik said, clearly not taking this well. His hands clutched the edges of his seat, as if he needed something to hold on to. “Bakura is dead. They both are. Thats how all of this was supposed to go, and everyone involved has suffered because of it, us most of all. Why would you..?”

“I know this is hard to talk about, but…” Ryou sighed, his eyes falling away from Marik’s, lost in thought. “Nobody’s really moved on. We’ve all tried, in our own ways. Yugi won the international finals, as if that's any surprise. Kaiba's building that stupid space elevator… he explained it to me once, and that's when I realized I wasn’t crazy after all. I've spent years working on this plan, but I can’t do it alone. And you?” He looked back up at Marik. “What have you been doing?”

“I…” Marik set his jaw. “I’ve been working with my sister. For the museum.” He jutted out his chin. “ _Not_ running an underground crime ring, if that's what you're implying.”

Ryou wasn’t implying that, but he knew that Marik was only being defensive to put distance between how confused and upset he was. “Are you happy?” Ryou asked, tired of tapdancing around the issue. He knew this was a lot to take in, but he needed an answer.

Marik shrugged, trying his best to look unconcerned. “My family is alive. I see them every day.”

“So you've been trying to forget.” It made sense. It was the least painful way, to shove it all aside. No wonder Marik wasn’t happy to see him. God, Ryou was so _stupid_ for flying all the way out here on a whim, for pinning all his hopes on someone he didn’t truly know or even understand. “And me coming here is just reminding you of it. I'm sorry. I should go.” Marik didn’t need any more pain in his life, not after what happened.

“Wait.” Marik paused, closing his eyes while he collected himself, grip loosening over time. Finally, he spoke. “I want to hear the plan. You’ve come this far.”

“Okay.” Ryou knew this was his only shot. He tried to temper his expectations, to stay calm and rational. He had rehearsed it all on the flight here. “I've been working on some experimental tech- state of the art stuff. A lot of it is based on systems KaibaCorp has already developed. I work in coding and software development, although I think level design would be fun since I already make models for my Monster World games and they look very professional-”

“Uh huh,” Marik responded, disengaged.

Ryou took a deep breath. “Sorry, i'm nervous. To the point then. I've created a digital landscape that a person can enter subconsciously while their body lays dormant in the real world. Like VR, but so much more. I think AR may even be possible in the future, but that's… again, not the point. I pitched the idea to Kaiba as a digital arena for dueling- like Kaibaland and holograms all together. Imagine an international tournament where the contestants don't have to fly out and meet up in person- they could meet digitally, all while the match is streamed to everyone's home computer or whatever screen is hanging off the nearest building. The advertising money alone will pay for it. I have a team working for me that's figured out the physical hardware and interface tech, while I focused on the digital landscape itself. It’s not ready for mass production yet, but I have a solid prototype.”

“Ryou… I don’t think I ever want to play Duel Monsters again.” Marik’s voice was soft, cracking slightly. “What does this have to do with Bakura?”

“Well… this is the crazy part. I think I can put his soul into the digital world. He won't be trapped inside of me, and I can build him whatever he wants. I have a replica of ancient Egypt, the castle from Monster World, Domino City, and I can make more. Once we get online he could challenge people to whatever shadow games he wants and not really hurt them when they lose.” Ryou leaned in, gaining intensity. “We could both see him again.”

“You’re right. You’re completely insane,” Marik said frankly. “And thats coming from me.”

“I know its a lot, just hear me out. After… what happened, he…” Ryou struggled to think of a nice way to put it, but there wasn’t one, and he could feel that intensity growing into desperation. “He’s in hell, okay? The shadow realm, if you want to call it that. The Pharaoh got to be laid to rest in the afterlife, and Bakura lost and got dragged to hell. I know he did terrible things, but he was driven to extremes because of the injustice done to his people. It wasn’t right, but that doesn’t make this fair. He was awful to me, but he was apart of me- I felt the things he did, and I know he wasn’t all bad. I tried to be a good friend to him, to help him, but I was never as good at that as you. We have to help him. We have to try.”

Marik stared down at his hands, curling in on himself. “What do you want me to do?”

There was no time to slow down now. “You’ve sent people’s souls to the shadow realm before. I want you to send me there, so I can retrieve his soul and bring him back.”

“I can’t do that, Ryou,” Marik said, genuine regret in his voice. “Shadow magic was born as a result of the Millennium Items. Without the Rod- or any of them- I can’t…”

“I was worried you would say that.” Ryou had considered many possibilities before booking his ticket, but none of them scared him. He would do what he had to. “Does the museum have them?”

“You aren’t seriously considering stealing them.”

“We’d put it back right afterwards!”

“Ryou… this was supposed to be the end of a vicious cycle. I don't like the Gods’ decision anymore than you do, but its… this is messing with powers we don't even… what if it doesn't work? What if I can't get you out?” Marik looked up, and Ryou’s breath caught at how scared he looked, how vulnerable.

“I’m willing to take that risk,” Ryou said firmly, hoping it was reassuring. “I’ve already given up my life for this. Maybe you don’t understand…” He glanced away, collecting his thoughts before continuing. “You have your brother and sister, and you’re lucky, and i’m happy for you, but I… I have no family. Florence was the only person who stayed with me, ever since I was a kid. I thought he was a ghost, so I bought ouija boards and shitty self published guidebooks to talk to him. I was a weird kid, and I never made many friends. The ones I did have tended to ditch me after awhile. But he was _there_ , and he tried to help me, in his own misguided way.”

“I still don’t know why you call him that.” It was an abrupt subject change, but Ryou supposed he owed Marik a lot of explanations today.

“Bakura is my name. He stole it, but I was willing to share. I thought he needed a first one too. And it’s what I called him when I was younger, so I… I felt like I could connect to him better, see him as a person instead of this thing taking over me. It helped.”

“Why would you want him back?” Marik asked, still nervous about his part in this, still lost at the fact that Ryou was even here. “The things he did to you…”

“Once he started controlling me for his plans we fought a lot,” Ryou explained, “but I understood _why_ he did it, and I couldn't stay mad. It was my job to try and help him, like Yugi and the Pharaoh, and I failed.” He had to make Marik understand why this was so important, why he had to help. “I live alone. I have since sophomore year of highschool. I make a good living, and I have friends who like me for who I am. I made it. But I feel so empty inside, Marik. I feel like part of me is missing, and every night I couldn't sleep because of the guilt eating at me I picked up my laptop and kept coding. This is my last chance to put things right, but I need your help to do it. I know you miss him too.” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I thought this would be easier, honestly. I thought you would leap at the chance to spit in the face of fate and do what you wanted.”

“Maybe I grew up,” Marik retorted hotly, crossing his arms with a defiant glare. “Maybe I moved on.”

Ryou couldn’t tell if he meant it or not. “Maybe you did. I can’t make you help me, but… just think about it, okay? This means the world to me. It’s all I’ve wanted for so long, and i’m so close…”

Ryou truly couldn’t imagine Marik saying no, but he knew he should give him space before insisting on a decision. He got up, tugging down the hem of his t-shirt and smoothing it to give his idle hands something to fidget with. “I’ll leave you alone. Sorry to drop in like this and… Just think about it. Take your time.”

Marik got up to get the door for him, but he didn’t look at Ryou as he left, didn’t ask where he was going, or when he was coming back. He just let it happen numbly, and Ryou felt a pang of guilt at bringing up such painful memories. There was no other way to do this. It was the only thing that made sense.

Ryou waved goodbye, even as Marik closed the door in his face. He deflated once he no longer had to hold it together in front of anyone, sighing into a crumpled heap at the base of the door, tucking his knees to his chest. It could have gone worse, all things considered.

When he finally picked himself up, Ryou dusted off his jeans and his resolve. He could be patient. He’d waited this long for his plan to come together, he could wait a little longer. As he watched the fading sun, a kind of peace settled inside him. “I’m almost there,” he whispered.

 

  
*******

 

Marik sat in the quiet Ryou had left, contemplating his choices for a moment before firmly shutting it all down and throwing himself into bed.

This was not happening. It couldn’t be.

The last time he had seen Ryou, it had been _years ago,_ during the worst part of his life. Well, maybe not the worst part. They were all the worst parts, honestly, it was hard to rank them in a satisfactory order.

And all this time, he had been planning this? It didn’t make any sense. Marik couldn't deal with it. He shouldn’t have to. He had closed that chapter of his life, and never wanted to see Yugi or any of his friends ever again, Ryou included.

If anything, Marik should be _angry_ that Ryou had come here unannounced, as if they were old friends. How dare he bring all of his baggage to Marik, expecting him to fix it for him, asking him to do something dangerous and illegal as a favor! Who did he think he was?

But Marik couldn’t hold onto that emotion for very long. Ryou was impossible to hate, no matter how difficult he made things. This wasn’t like last time. He was clear about his intentions, and they were good, even if they were hard for Marik to wrap his head around. Ryou just wanted to help.

 _No_ , Marik had decided that to move on with his life, he couldn’t talk to any of them again. He needed to stay closed off. If Ryou came back- when he came back- Marik needed to tell him to leave.

With that decided, Marik managed to ignore the nagging feeling for a few days before it finally ate away at him, resulting in him staring up at the ceiling during another sleepless night, unable to chase away the thoughts racing through his mind.

Marik hadn’t realized how lonely he truly was until the moment he saw Ryou’s face. He had gotten used to the monotony of things, the routine of following Ishizu’s lead. It distracted him so well he didn't notice the emptiness inside himself. Now that longing ached so much he could barely catch his breath.

When he was the head of the Rare Hunters, Marik finally felt alive. For the first time in his life he had been in control of his own fate, and it was exhilarating. Truth be told, he _liked_ the danger, and nothing was more dangerous than Bakura.

Maybe he had been a stupid kid acting out. That's what Marik told himself when thinking about the past. But regardless of his actions and his mistakes, what he felt was real. And he had felt something for Bakura, something he hadn’t fully recognized until it was too late.

It didn't really come as a surprise. Marik was incredibly good at suppressing his feelings. Even after defeating his other self, he still tended to bottle things up and bury them rather than face it all, knowing that he might lose control again one day. But Ryou had let all of it loose when he came here with a crazy plan and a plea for help, and now Marik had no choice but to dig out what he had been holding in his heart for so long.

Whether or not a relationship with an ancient spirit of hellbent vengeance was _practical_ hadn’t mattered to 16 year old Marik. That Marik only cared that he had no one to answer to for his actions and that he could do whatever he wanted. And someone who hated the Pharaoh just as passionately, who reveled in violence and freedom, who was snarky and bitter and sharp and full of treacherous grins aimed his way- that was something Marik _wanted_.

And so, like everything else, he tried to control it. Bakura was not so keen to be _acquired_ like all the other Rare Hunters, however, and Marik was forced to argue and coerce and threaten, but even that was exciting, because he’d never had a single challenger when the Rod wiped away all will. Bakura was not just anyone- his spirit was stronger than any other Marik had ever seen, his mind filled with more questions than answers, blocked away as if just for the purpose of inconveniencing Marik’s prying. His eyes were bright with fearlessness and something knowing, and when Bakura stared at Marik like that it drove him wild.

They had called themselves partners, but they were more of a threat to each other than any of the Pharaoh’s allies. There was a kind of antagonistic back and forth that muddled things, that allowed Marik to forget his attraction in the wake of proving Bakura wrong and executing the perfect plan. If only Odion hadn’t lost, maybe Battle City wouldn't have ended like it did. Maybe their partnership wouldn't have ended like it did.

Marik sighed, chest heavy when he thought about it, even after all this time. He fast-forwarded to later, when Bakura was planning his final game and Marik somehow involved himself. He had been lost, after Battle City, no sense of purpose, unable to face his family. The memory world was his last shot at revenge, at defiance, at proving something to himself. If they didn't win this time, he would give it all up.

Surprise- they didn’t win.

Marik was true to his word. Yugi was quick to forgive and Ishizu was quick to welcome him back into her arms, but like Ryou, Marik had lost a part of himself that day. Bakura represented something Marik couldn’t see in himself, something he wanted to hold onto despite the warning signs.

But things had changed. Marik was older now, better able to consider his own feelings. How did he feel about Bakura now?

He missed him, clearly. Marik had forgotten that the ache inside himself was not a normal part of everyday life, but now he felt it acutely, like hot blades in his back, a constant reminder of what he’d endured. He missed the way it felt when they were kids with a grand plan that would solve all their problems. He missed the bickering, and the danger, and whatever it was that made life feel so alive and so unlike a tomb. He missed the arrogance and that infuriating shitty smile and how he was the only one Bakura deemed worth any amount of attention, much less trust. He missed… having someone he could trust. Who understood him fully, wholly, and found him worthwhile. He missed feeling important. part of something bigger.

Whatever Ryou was doing, it was certainly bigger than either of them.

The Marik of today was cautious, contemplative, too much so to act on his impulsiveness like he used to. He wasn't sure how he felt about Bakura anymore, whether this was selfish or an act of kindness, whether wanting him back after everything was wrong or just natural. But Marik’s gut reaction, no plan necessary, was to go for it. His heart picked up a little at the thought of all they'd have to do, and Marik felt that maybe this was a step in the right direction.

He rolled over in bed, grasping at his phone to send a message to Ryou before realizing he didn’t have his number. Marik wasn’t sure how to get in contact with him, so he stared blankly, at a loss until he heard a knock at the door.

Marik felt a twinge of unease run through him, but he got up, creeping to the door to confirm his suspicions. As if summoned, Ryou sat in front of the door, looking small on the balcony overhanging the city.

Marik sighed and sat down next to him, slightly uncomfortable but unwilling to comment on it. Ryou continued looking at the sky for awhile, maybe noticing the differences between here and home, maybe thinking about something else entirely.

Ryou broke the silence first, a far-away look in his eyes. It was so much different from how Bakura looked. At least how Marik remembered him. “Are you lonely here, all by yourself?”

“No,” Marik said, though he didn’t give the question a lot of consideration. “I needed the space. The distance. It helps keeps things from getting too… complicated.” The crowded apartment blocks were the opposite of the tombs, and Marik felt like if he surrounded himself with people then maybe he wouldn’t feel like he was all by himself.

Ryou tilted his head slightly. “Really? When I moved from my family home, I was a mess. I never liked being alone.”

Marik couldn’t stand to be anywhere near his ‘family home’ for another second. It was one of the many ways he struggled to relate. “Then why move at all?”

Ryou sighed with the weight of the world. “I didn’t have a choice,” he said vaguely. “It wasn’t as bad when I moved to Domino, though.”

“Why is that?” Marik asked, keeping the pressure off himself to fill the silence.

“I thought if I changed schools, nobody would call me the wrong name. I could start over, you know? The first day, the gym teacher grabbed me by the hair and said I looked like a girl. Florence gave him a penalty game after school. I never asked him about it, and he never questioned why I chose to keep my hair long if I didn't want people to misgender me. I know I shouldn't care what other people think, but it's… it was harder when I was younger.”

Marik didn’t recall ever hearing about that. It was strange to think that there were things about Bakura that were new, when he had been gone so long, when Marik had been so sure he was out of reach.

“So why did he do it?” Ryou continued, playing with a string bracelet on his wrist Marik hadn’t noticed before. “Maybe he just wanted to hurt someone after being freed from the Ring. Maybe it was to show everyone how dangerous he could be. Maybe it was his way of protecting me, trying to reach out.”

Marik wasn’t sure what to say, so he waited for Ryou to keep going.

“Everyone saw the darkness in him, and it was all they saw. But he was a part of me, I felt all of it, even if I couldn't understand. I think it was for all of those reasons, and even though it was wrong, he… he was the only person who stood up for me. I couldn't even stand up for myself. When Yugi got bullied, he had Joey and Tristan to bail him out. And hell- what Pharaoh did in that burger place was on the news. I never had people like that to take care of me. Not like him. And now he's gone.”

“I thought those guys were your friends,” Marik said, though he wasn’t sure how much he believed it. He felt like he should try and reach out, but he wasn’t sure how, or if his touch would be welcome.

“Yeah. They are,” Ryou agreed. “But back in school, before all the tournaments and craziness… I just wanted to walk home and not be scared that there was someone following me. When I had the Ring, I felt like nobody could hurt me. I’m sure my friends would have walked with me if I asked, but then they’d just get hurt because of me. And then maybe one day someone would be teasing me and they'd realize…” Ryou stopped himself mid-ramble, looking a little nervous. “They accept me for who I am, and I wanted to believe that back then, but I could never be sure… Nobody could touch Florence, and he had accepted me for who I was already. His reincarnation, apparently. The next Thief King.” That brought a faint smile back to Ryou’s face, for just a moment.

“I wanted to be close with all of them, but I was scared of what would happen, so I kept a distance. And after all the hell Florence put them through, that gap never really closed. He tried to kill them, and I shouldn't have wanted the Ring back, but it always found a way back to me. I don’t know.” Ryou dug his chin into his knees.

“I still miss the Rod sometimes,” Marik admitted, voicing the thought for the first time. He knew it was wrong. He knew it made him a bad person- as if there were any question about that. But it was true, and being able to admit that was a relief he didn’t know he needed. “Not just for the control, but for being able to see into people’s thoughts. Nobody could lie to me, and I always knew how they really felt.”

Ryou nodded.

“I'm sorry, by the way. For risking your life in Battle City.” Marik felt like he would never stop saying those words. Was it so bad to just want to move on, to forget all of it and pretend it never happened? Nobody would _let him._ Not Ishizu, not the world that watched him on t.v, and not even Ryou. He couldn’t escape his past, a running theme in his life, and he hated how powerless that made him feel.

“I forgive you,” Ryou said, like it wasn’t a big deal. “And for the record, your plan definitely would have worked if Bakura didn’t get so nervous.”

“I know. And for the record, stabbing you was his idea.”

“I know.”

Marik felt obligated to fill the silence that Ryou left. “I’m not sure how much of it you remember, but Bakura saved my brother’s life. We only partnered up because it was easier than killing each other, and we bickered the entire tournament- mentally, of course. But at the end of the day, when I lost everything and had nobody to turn to but him, he helped me, even though there wasn’t a very good reason. The Pharaoh dueled me to save his friends, but Bakura dueled me to save me and my family, and I haven't forgotten that.” He couldn’t no matter how hard he tried.

Ryou smiled, clasping him gently on the shoulder. “He had a good reason.”

Marik shook his head. Ryou didn’t make any sense to him. Had he always been like this? “We’re not good people, Ryou. You see the good in us, but you are a strange person, and I’m not even sure if you’re right. We’re both thieves, and killers, and hurt those closest to us. I'm a control freak and he can't let anything go. That's who you’re helping. Are we really worth it to you?”

“I already told you I forgive you. The past is in the past. All we can do is try to be better.”

He really sounded like he meant that. Marik shook his head, almost impressed by Ryou’s determination to move forward. How could he say no to that?

“Well if there's anything all three of us have in common, it's that we’re cheaters.”

“I do not cheat,” Ryou protested immediately. “I just read rulebooks very thoroughly and find ways to-”

“Well ,” Marik interrupted, “You’re about to be one. Because we’re going to cheat death. Lets get Bakura back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this fic for a long time, and i'm excited to finally be posting it. I've read a lot of thiefshipping, and I've never seen someone solve the dead Bakura problem in quite the same way, so hopefully you find it as weird and interesting as I do. 
> 
> Special thanks to offbeatbeauty for her editing, amusing comments in my google docs, and sitting next to me on the couch to write and suffer together. You're the best.
> 
> Oh also, please don't hate me for calling him Florence? I felt like it was an important character decision for Ryou to humanize Bakura in his mind by giving him a name, and there wasn't anything I could come up with that would be more ridiculous than that, so of course I had to do it. I won't use it very often, I promise. I'm doing the english names so I suspect i'm already in trouble for that anyways.


	2. In Which Bakura Remembers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was writing this, I wanted the shadow realm to feel significantly different from the normal world, sort of an emotion-fueled dream like place. To accomplish this I decided to write it in present tense, while Bakura's memories (flashbacks) remained in past tense like the rest of the story. It's a little weird to read, but that was intentional, and I put in italics to further signify the change so hopefully it isn't confusing. Anyway, thanks for sticking with me!
> 
> Also, there's like one sentence that's kinda self harm, so heads up for that.

Bakura has been plunged into the shadows before, and while he isn’t keen to be back again, he knows it won’t last forever.

Emotion hits him all at once, waves so strong they threaten to knock him off his feet- rage, primarily, and disappointment, and a pain so tight in his chest he can’t breathe.

He failed.

Bakura knows the shadows hunger for feeling, for something to swallow in the emptiness, and he lashes back at them.

Rage is easiest to hold onto. He held onto it for thousands of years in the bleakness of the Ring, and he is patient above all else. He can wait, simmering in his hatred, letting the shadows seep around him as long as they must.

At first they are tame, almost gentle, embracing him in smokey tendrils. As Bakura’s mind wanders, thinking back on all the things he could have done differently, all the mistakes he made, they begin to squeeze, to pull, to stab.

He shakes his head, looking down at his hands to see if he is even whole anymore. He almost expects to be transparent, half faded away like he was during that shadow game in Battle City. The shadows ebb just enough to give him a glimpse of skin too light to be his own, and he shudders, hands reflexively going to the Ring that is no longer there. He can feel the golden points burning into his skin, a reminder of what was lost, and the ache is his only companion in the darkness.

It is easy to lose yourself here, but Bakura will not fall so easily. His revenge is coming, and he can wait as long as it must take. He has endured pain in life, in death, and in this.

The shadows prod, insisting, wanting, pleading for a memory to latch onto. Bakura has no memories. They cannot take what isn’t there.

In the end, his heart betrays him.

Bakura does not know how long it has been. There is no time here, no space, only a dreamlike flow of thoughts and emotions that roll off of the shadow’s captives, encircling them, a prison of their own making. Bakura could have waited, silent in his anguish, forever holding on to the revenge he knows is coming. But he thinks of Marik, and that is his undoing.

The shadows take him slowly, catching him off guard. They want his longing, his misery, and they creep inside of him, filling the emptiness in his heart. Bakura tries to struggle, to push the shadows away, to refocus his anger into a memory he can yell at, but the shadows take the familiar voice of Ryou, and he is losing himself already.

 

_“I know our hearts better than you do,” Ryou said, holding his ground despite the trembling in his voice. “I've had a lot of time in here to think. I know who I am, and I know who you are.”_

_Bakura tried to shut him out, but Ryou always managed to find a way to bother him, and it wasn’t worth the effort to hold his soul back._

_Ryou was used to this, and continued grating on Bakura’s nerves. “I can feel it right now. The pounding of your heart when you think of him-”_

_“I thought this was your heart,” Bakura shot back. “You’re the one who's always whining about me taking your body. It’s your body, isn’t it? You’re the one that wants to fuck him.”_

_While once Ryou would get flustered and upset, putting an end to the conversation, this time he didn’t even falter. “It's your heart too.”_

_Bakura didn’t respond, not giving Ryou the satisfaction. He could wear himself out droning on and on about friendship or whatever, Bakura wanted no part of it._

_“I used to hate you,” Ryou confessed, the guilt in his voice infuriating. “I would do anything to get rid of you. But whether I like it or not, you're a part of me. You have been since I was little. The truth is, we aren’t separate. Not entirely. There’s me, and you, and us. And as much as you hate to admit it, you know it to be true. There's me in you, too.”_

 

Bakura inhales a breath- a desperate gasp as the vision blurs in his eyes. The scene fades away, just around the edges, and Bakura tries to push Ryou out of his mind. He doesn’t want to relive this memory, to hear Ryou’s voice in his head forever, a reminder of what he’s done to wind up in this terrible place.

Why is it so much harder now than it was before? The question is tugged from his mind, a why that pulls him back in just as he is breaking away.

 

_“Why are you pestering me? Is there something you want, or do you just like to hear your own voice?”_

_“You care about him,” Ryou said gently, but to Bakura it was an accusation._

_“I don’t care about anyone, especially not myself. The scars on this body are proof of that. I only care about one thing. My heart and soul are filled with hatred, and my only purpose is to carry out my revenge.”_

_“That's not true.” Ryou’s voice was so invasive, so deep inside of Bakura he could never fully tear it out. He hated when Ryou acted like this, like he knew everything. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t. “I know you want it to be. In a way, it makes things easier for you. But you do care. You can't keep ignoring it.”_

_“You don’t know anything about me,” Bakura hissed, trying to find a door in his heart he could lock Ryou behind._

_“Don't hurt him,” Ryou said firmly, some of that iron will shining through his spirit. “That's what you always do when you push me away. I try to help you and you hurt me so i’ll stop caring and leave you alone. But he’s already been hurt by people who are supposed to love him.”_

_“Are you begging me not to hurt one of your little friends, Ryou? You know what a waste of time that is. I'm in control! I decide what to do. This is my body now, and my decisions are not negotiations.”_

_“You’re only in control because I allow it,” Ryou shot back. “I’m giving you a chance as long as you promise to behave.” He must have felt the surge of anger from Bakura, because his voice softened as he spoke. “I just wish…”_

_“What?”_

_“Is there any way to let a vengeful soul have peace without vengeance?” He wondered, some of the nervousness creeping back in._

_Bakura laughed cruelly. “What?” he repeated. Ryou couldn’t possibly be serious._

_“I want you to be at peace. I want to help you. And I think- maybe if I can't help you, someone else can. Someone you bare your soul to willingly, instead of by force. Someone like Marik.”_

_“Don't you get it?” Bakura said, too angry to explain properly. “It's too late for me. I made a deal with a demon to set me down this path, there's no way out even if I wanted such a thing. I’ve calculated all of it. Every moment has been part of the plan-”_

_“Except meeting him.”_

_“You don't give up easily on anything, do you? Very well. Know this, host. Letting me in was the worst mistake you ever made. No other person in this world is stupid enough to do the same thing.”_

_Bakura tore the necklace off and flung it across the room, hitting the far wall with a metal clatter._

 

The sound of the Ring echoes through the overwhelming silence, Choking Bakura. His hands claw at his throat, but the shadows wind tighter, and he feels his anger slipping into something more desperate.

The shadows are tearing now, trying to pull him apart, rolling in a chaotic storm around him as he struggles. They pull at memories- Bakura yelling, his voice hoarse; Ryou’s eyes growing cold while he stares in the mirror; a blast of wind that flings Marik’s hair behind him as he rushes towards Bakura with a screech and the smell of rubber- and then Marik, Marik, Marik, the shadows seize his name from Bakura’s throat and dig into his lungs, needing more, digging deeper, and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

 

_Bakura sat in the bottom of the shower, observing the various bottles impassively. Even if he knew what they said, he wouldn’t have the first clue what to do with them, and frankly he didn’t care._

_Marik sighed, making a dramatic show of how inconvenient this all was for him. “Do you need me to do everything?” he grumbled, leaving the bloody sink and cranking the shower on._

_Bakura jumped as ice cold water hit him, clamoring away from it. “Hey!”_

Marik rolled his eyes and fixed the dial on something tolerable. “I’m a 3000 year old spirit who isn't afraid of anything and stabs himself for fun but running water is terrifying” Marik mocked in a bad imitation of his voice.

Bakura glared.

“Are you really going to sit there like a child?” Marik looked through the bottles speculatively before selecting a few. “Whatever. Just don’t pull open your stitches.”

Bakura readjusted his legs, crossing them to put the pressure off his wound. He felt some of Ryou’s embarrassment flare up, but pushed it away. Whether or not it was his body, Bakura didn’t give a shit about being naked in front of people. Besides, Ryou should shut up and be glad he didn’t have to feel all these bruises right now.

Bakura eventually relaxed into the heat of the shower. He still didn't understand why people needed to bathe every day all of a sudden, but maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. He had to admit, it felt nice.

Marik dumped something gooey on his head, grabbing Bakura’s arms and shoving them into his hair. “Help me,” he demanded. “There’s way too much of this.”

Bakura copied Marik, watching intently. The boy looked more disheveled now, the spray from the water dampening his soft blond hair and dripping down the front of his top. It was strange seeing Marik anything less than put together, but Bakura enjoyed the fact that he was the one who caused it.

“I thought about chopping it off,” he admitted. “It's inconvenient, but Ryou would cry. He cares far more than I do.” Bakura shrugged. He had once punished a man for merely suggesting it. Ryou hadn’t figured out how to hold him back at the time, but Bakura liked to think that things would have gone the same way regardless.

Marik sighed. “It is pretty,” he agreed, running his fingers through Bakura’s hair and then hastily detangling them.

Bakura felt something sting his eyes and swore, shoving Marik away.

“Calm down, it's just the shampoo. If you trimmed your bangs this wouldn’t happen.” Marik pushed him back, forcibly tilting his head at an angle and combing his hair away from his face. Bakura struggled, the water hitting him directly and making it harder to breathe. He relaxed once the stinging stopped, but resolved never to do this again, no matter what anyone said.

Although… when Bakura looked down at all the dirt and blood sitting in the bottom of the tub, it appeared as though Marik maybe had a point to putting him through all of this. Maybe.

Once Marik decided they had done enough, he turned off the water abruptly, grabbing Bakura by the wounded arm. It hurt, but he silently gritted his teeth and pulled away.

“Do you have to be such a pain in the ass?” Marik complained, shaking his head. “Get up, we need to brush your hair. And if you think i'm cleaning the drain-”

“Stop telling me what to do. I'm not one of your lackeys. Do you know how inconsequential all of this is to me? I didn’t seal my soul in an ancient relic and wait thousands of years for _you_.”

“I wouldn't have to tell you what to do if you weren't so helpless. Besides, it's not like you were doing anything important.”

Bakura got up, groaning at the ache in his legs. “Fine, if it will get you to stop talking then do whatever you want to me.”

Marik turned, keeping his eyes respectfully away. Bakura could swear he saw the boy blush, and couldn’t help but laugh at his expense. What happened to all that arrogance, that boldness? Had it really been this easy to unsettle him all along?

“Shut up,” Marik commanded, pilfering the bathroom cabinets and throwing a towel at him. They had once been white, but Ryou wasn’t sure how to get the blood stains out and gave up after a certain point. Bakura recommended wearing red if he cared so much, a suggestion that notably hadn’t been considered.

When Marik turned around again, Bakura had figured out how to wrap the towel around himself without letting it slip off his narrow hips. Bakura frowned as he looked down. As small and thin as this body was, it had been an even match with the Pharaoh. He had been through worse, anyways, and considered the matching bruises on the other vessel victory enough.

Marik more or less attacked him with the brush, yanking far too hard and generating far too much complaining from Bakura. He only settled down when Bakura agreed to let him braid it, and then they sat in silence, the steam in the bathroom making it hard for Bakura to breathe.

“You look nice,” Marik said, pleasant for once. He pulled a thing off his wrist and used it to keep his handiwork in place.

Bakura grumbled wordlessly.

“Ishizu never let me braid her hair. Odion did, but it’s not the same.”

Bakura played with the end of the braid, feeling the fabric thing with his fingers. The word came to him slowly, floating through a haze of Ryou’s memories. _Hair tie._

“What, no gold?” the Ishtars seemed to take their over-the-top accessories seriously, and Marik had plenty to spare. Bakura never really wore the things he stole unless it was to show off, but between Ryou’s boring striped shirts, Yugi’s bordering on fetish look, and Marik’s… Marikness, he had no idea what was normal in the modern world.

Marik didn’t respond, giving him one last lingering glance before disappearing, the steam wafting out the door behind him.

Ryou poked at the edges of his mind, and Bakura didn't care enough to fight back. “How bad is it?”

“Marik fixed me up,” he mumbled in reply. “You’re fine.”

“Why did you attack Yugi?” Ryou asked, a little frantic, pushing hard enough to give Bakura a headache. Great. Just what he needed. “It doesn’t make sense. You always wait to strike when you have an advantage, when the games are in your favor. But you just… punched him.”

“Would you believe me if I told you it was part of the plan?” Bakura said wryly.

“It wouldn’t surprise me that getting your ass kicked was a calculated move on your part,” Ryou responded fiercely. “Or that you would lie about it to save face. How many times do I have to tell you not to get us hurt?”

Bakura felt Ryou’s apprehension build up inside of him, and he tried to stamp it down. “We’re not that badly hurt. Your friends didn’t offer me a ride to the hospital or anything, by the way. The nicest thing they were willing to do was let me go without chasing me down.” He sighed, letting some of the bitterness escape. “At least Marik was here.”

“He still scares me,” Ryou admitted, slightly shy. “But he likes you, so…”

“I doubt that.” All Marik ever did was complain when Bakura didn't listen to him.

“He's not used to having people choose to stay with him. That's why he doesn't give them a choice. But it isn't the same thing. Why do you think I wanted my friends released from Monster World when you trapped them there?”

There was strategy in not giving someone a choice. Depending on people was a mistake. They would always let you down or betray you in the end, and the only way to avoid that was to rely on no one, or control them from the shadows, anticipating every move and pushing each pawn in the direction you wanted..

“If he thinks he can control me he has another thing coming,” Bakura said out loud, not caring if Marik heard. Even trusting Bakura had been a mistake in the end, because in Battle City Bakura  failed. And Marik had never once held up his end of any of their deals. But yet, here they were. Still working together, and arguing, and in their own way, trusting. Perhaps it was because neither of them had anyone else to rely on.

Something about that was incredibly depressing. Bakura had been a king in his own right once. Now he was a teenage boy who could barely throw a right hook much less make a plan come together, clinging to the only other loser in the world who had any understanding of what he was, which wasn’t much.

After wandering the house and dressing himself in the first thing he found, Bakura plopped down on the couch, the Millennium Ring heavy as it bounced against his chest. Marik’s tank top was too loose on Bakura’s thin frame, and rode up high enough that he could see the bandages. No matter how much he damaged this body and left his mark, it would never really be his.

Bakura narrowed his eyes and dug his fingers into one of his bandages until they turned red, biting his lip to keep from making a sound. The pain he felt in that moment was his. It was real. It was a part of himself.

Why did Ryou think Marik liked him? Liking someone and not hating someone were two very different things. Ryou didn't know what he was talking about. Obviously.

Marik almost walked past before noticing his partner sprawled across the couch. “You're too quiet. Its creepy.”

“Thanks,” Bakura responded, nonplussed.

Marik looked annoyed at the response. “Why did you even come here?”

Bakura shrugged. “I was just in the neighborhood and figured my good friend Namu would be happy to patch me up again.”

Marik snorted. “I guess you were right.” His eyes traveled to Bakura’s wound, then slowly wandered up his bare midriff. “Try not to get blood on everything, okay?”

Bakura stretched out, just a bit too tall to fit on the couch comfortably, draping his arms behind his head. “No promises.”

Marik watched him for a moment too long.

Finally it clicked. Bakura couldn’t help but laugh out loud, ignoring the pain it caused in his side. How had it taken him this long to notice?

“What?”

Bakura shook his head. “You don’t like me very much, do you?”

“You're a constant pain in the ass,” Marik agreed all too easily, his expression remaining suspicious.

“But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re attracted to me.” Bakura could barely contain the amusement in his voice.

Marik looked confused by this line of thought, though to his credit he remained unflustered. “You’re a spirit in someone else’s body, I don't think that counts.”

“Oh? And why not?” Bakura locked eyes with him, waiting for a hint of weakness. It wasn't hard to get under the boy’s skin now that he had figured him out. “Sweet, Innocent Ryou wouldn’t let you touch it, but I might.”

That was enough to tip Marik into discomfort. He glanced away, giving Bakura a small victory. “Don’t say that. It's creepy.”

“That’s rich, coming from the boy who controls people like dolls against their will and roots through their minds uninvited. You're the creepy one Marik.”

“I would never… do something like… you know.” Marik’s face reddened, making Bakura laugh again.

“Oh, of course not. But killing them is totally fine.”

“That's different.”

Bakura stretched again. “Marik, using people for your own gain and then throwing them away when they've lost their use is what you do.” Why bother arguing the contrary?

“I don’t do that anymore,” Marik stated firmly, his arms crossed protectively over himself.

“Then why are Ishizu and Odion not here? Because you had no use for them?” Bakura didn’t wait for a response. “Marik, you haven’t changed, you just don’t have the Rod anymore. But you miss how powerful it made you feel.”

Marik bared his teeth, petulant as ever. “Shut up. You and the Pharaoh lived in ancient Egypt, you had slaves, that's the same thing-”

Bakura knew Marik was simply trying to change the subject, but he bristled at the senseless comment nonetheless. “I did not have slaves,” he hissed, sitting up as heat rose in his blood. “I am nothing like him. You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”

“Whose fault is that? It's not like we sit around talking about our personal lives.”

Bakura lurched forward on the couch, ignoring the strain on his arms. “I know plenty about you after cleaning up your messes so many times.”

Marik rolled his eyes. “Says the guy bleeding on my couch.”

“Lets see: you were born the heir to a dead-end line of fanatics who protected the very tombs I desecrated long before you. When you were 10 your father carved some ancient bullshit into your back, and you let him do it because you thought it would make him love you. Neither of your siblings did anything to help you except take a few whippings, and the entire time you pretended you weren’t angry with all of them until one day you snapped. You killed your father, then blamed the Pharaoh for ruining your life; which he did, but you had a hand in all of this Marik. You were the one who went crazy at Battle City and sabotaged your own shitty plans. You were the one who almost killed us both and lost the God Cards and tried to stab your siblings because it was easier than facing them. You were the one who gave the Pharaoh exactly what he wanted in the end.” Bakura shot him a murderous glare, the taste of his words like venom. “Did I forget anything?”

Marik stared, mouth slightly open, a vulnerable, hurt look on his face. It was almost surprising to Bakura, who had seen him only in tight-lipped denial or melodramatic outrage. “I…” He was completely at a loss. “I was 11 when he… When I...”

Bakura laughed cruelly, satisfied with himself. “Of course. My bad.”

Marik took a moment to recover, then rounded on Bakura in retaliation, the hurt quickly replaced with rage. “Why did you help me then?” he demanded.

“What?”

“I’m a loser,” Marik admitted, sorrow soaking into what was supposed to be an angry tirade. “I spent my whole life trying to fight what everyone told me was my destiny, but when the time came I still bent to the Pharaoh’s command because…” he shook his head, staring down at a red stain in the carpet. “I don’t know why I even did it. I could have fought him, or at least…” he sighed, unclenching his fists, shoulders slumping in defeat.

Bakura felt something like guilt well up inside of him, but he quickly shoved it down. He had nothing to be sorry for. He hadn’t said a single thing that wasn't true.

Marik finally looked back up at him, and for a moment Bakura could see the guilt echoed on his face as well. “I thought about keeping the Ring, but…” he squeezed his eyes shut and rushed through the rest, no carefully planned words or biting comebacks, just raw emotion. “Ishizu and Odion wanted me to go home with them, and I was desperate not to lose anyone else. I almost killed them. I was supposed to be glad that the Pharaoh stopped me but I wasn't because I lost, and a part of me died that day before I could really understand it, and I still hate him so much it hurts, but I let him take everything from me again.” Marik’s bottom lip trembled slightly, his eyes glistening with tears. Bakura felt like he should say something, but he wasn’t sure what he even wanted from this conversation anymore. He swallowed, throat dry, watching the tears streak down Marik’s pretty cheeks.

“I'm a mess,” Marik declared, wiping the tears off his face hastily with the back of his hand, leaving black smudges everywhere. “I have nothing. I thought I still had my family but they won't look at me the same, and they don't talk about what happened because I get upset and deep down everyone will always be afraid of me because i'm a killer. And maybe I deserve all of this, because I don’t feel bad for who I hurt, I only care because they care and they want me to care, and… and I…” he took a couple deep breaths, trying to inhale the snot dripping out of his nose.

“Marik…”

Marik shook his head, not done yet. “Even if I killed the Pharaoh, that wouldn't change anything. I’d still be just as miserable and useless as I am right now. I don't even know what i'm doing, but I have to try to kill him because then I can convince myself that I have something worth getting up in the morning for, and the more I fail the longer I can chase after him without having to face the truth. And I think you’re doing the same thing.”

Now it was Bakura’s turn to be shocked into silence.

“Why?” Marik repeated, rubbing at his face again, wet eyes wide with curiosity. “Why did you help me fight myself when you had nothing to gain? Why did you risk your hosts life and stake your soul on a shadow game? Why did you enter the tournament at all? My plan was terrible, you said so yourself. Why did you help me?”

Bakura clenched his jaw. “I needed the Millennium Items-”

“But you don’t, do you?” Marik interjected softly. “Yugi is going to collect all of them to unlock the Pharaoh’s memories, which is the same thing you’re trying to do. It doesn’t matter which person has them.”

“The plan changed.”

“You're a fucking liar,” Marik snapped. “I don't need to read your mind to see it. If you took the Rod from me it would have been easy to steal the rest of the items, but you made a ridiculous deal instead. You could have cut your losses with me after each failure, but you stayed, even though I had nothing to give you.” He sighed, crossing his arms to hide the softness creeping back in. “I honestly want to know why.”

Bakura snorted, leaning back against the couch. “After our defeat I realized I didn't need to possess the items to get them all in one place. As for Battle City, you underestimate Ryou’s ability to cause… complications.”

Marik huffed. “That's not an answer.”

“I don’t know!” Bakura shot back, throwing his hands up in the air. “Is that what you want to hear? It was beyond stupid. You’re beyond stupid. I don’t know why I keep ending up here.”

Marik nodded, taking some kind of satisfaction in that answer. It made Bakura feel unsettled, Marik believing he had the upper hand when his face was still wet. “I think I do. Want me to guess?”

“I don’t care what you think.”

Marik ignored his jibe and gave him a hardened glare. “I know more about you than you think, Thief King. You were as much a part of destiny as the Pharaoh. Two mortal enemies who clash throughout time, neither to gain the upper hand. This time one of you will win, or so the legend goes. I really do hope it's you, but you don’t have anyone to help you Bakura.”

“I don’t need anyone’s help.”

“But you do. Look at yourself. This is what you've accomplished with this life, this body. Blame me all you want, but we’re both failures. The only reason the Pharaoh has gotten as far as he has is because of his stupid friends and his stupid vessel. You can’t fight the whole world by yourself. The Thief King tried, and he failed. If you want to win this time, you need my help, just admit it.”

Bakura refused to humor Marik, the smugness in his face only making him more angry. “Don’t flatter yourself. I needed a place to crash for the night. Are you really that desperate for my attention, or are you just so used to people hurting you that you like how familiar it feels when you’re with me?”

“Shut up!” Marik responded instantly. “You’re such a coward. It's easy to make fun of me, I get it. I’m pathetic. But you are too, Bakura. That's why we’re here. That's why you keep running back to me. It's like looking in a fucking mirror, and hurting me is a way of hurting yourself.”

“I’m nothing like you.”

“You never had anything but yourself and what you could take from the Pharaoh. And even though you were alone, you still almost beat them, all by yourself. You almost had Egypt on its knees. Imagine what you could have done if I had been there.”

“Maybe I am a failure,” Bakura conceded, teeth grinding. “But the one thing I have that the Pharaoh never will is perseverance. No matter how many times I fail, I can always try again. He only has to lose once to lose everything. There's nothing he can do to me. No matter how long it takes, one day I will win.”

“It's not like that anymore,” Marik insisted, frustrated. “This is it Bakura. This is the final showdown. You need every advantage you can get. You need me.”

“No, I don't!” Bakura pushed himself off the couch, intending to storm out of the room, but he collapsed when his body decided that dramatic exits were not in the heart of the cards today. Instead he laid on the floor, upset at how frail and idiotic he must look.

“Why can’t you admit that you need me? That we’re all we have? I don’t know if I even like you! You have a thousand years worth of baggage and you're so stubborn it borders on suicidal and everything you say drives me crazy, but… you understand me. Sort of. Enough. So I'm here.” Marik reached down to help Bakura up. For once, Bakura did not fight him on it.

Marik set him back onto the couch, pulling his braid out from under his head to keep him comfortable. After arranging things properly he sighed, hopeless.

“You still have something to lose,” Bakura said with a scowl, voice hard.

Marik bit his lip. “My siblings?”

“It holds you back. You're torn between doing what they want and doing what your heart tells you. And when danger arises, you can't bear to lose them to it. That's why he tried to kill them.”

“Who?”

“The other you. Tried to kill them. Because once you had nothing to lose, there would be nothing to hold you back from your darkest desires. And the other part of you- the part that was with me- would be lost for good.”

“You care about Ryou,” Marik pointed out.

“I care about my host staying intact so I can remain corporeal.”

“Why do you have to be like that? You do care. Not admitting it doesn't change things, it just makes you annoying. Besides- Yugi cares about his friends. That puts us on equal footing, right?”

“I need every advantage I can get,” Bakura repeated sarcastically.

Marik was running out of patience for this conversation. “Bakura, do you care about me?”

Bakura opened his mouth for another scathing retort, but found himself drawing a blank. He couldn't think straight, a mix of emotions roiling inside of him, and chalked it up to blood loss.

Marik quickly shook his head, not expecting an answer. “You know you can't push me away, right? You're all I have, as sad as that is, so I'm not going anywhere. It's not like you ever really hurt me anyways.”

Bakura closed his eyes in surrender. They were pathetic together.

“I’ve failed so many times. Made a deal with the devil to seal my fate. Used more people and tossed them aside than I can count. And none of it worked. Do you really think there's anything you can do?”

“Maybe you need to care more instead of less,” Marik suggested. “Work with your host rather than fighting him. Don't die. Find someone who wants to help you because of the truth instead of a lie. Have you ever tried that?”

“I guess not.”

“Then let's discuss the plan in the morning.”

_And just like that it was decided. Marik walked towards his bedroom, tossing a final look and a “goodnight” over his shoulder._

_Bakura settled into the couch, feeling more defeated than he had in a millenia. “I care,” he whispered at the ceiling, trying out the way it felt along his tongue. He grimaced and turned to bury his face in the pillow, catching Marik standing in the doorway_

_He wasn't sure if he imagined the smile in Marik’s eyes as he switched off the light and went to bed._

 

Bakura holds onto that expression as he gasps, tearing something free from himself, catching a breath before he’s drowning again. The shadows are both solid and mist, melting in his hands but tightening their grip on his heart. He thinks of Marik’s fingers in his hair, his lavender eyes, his stupid motorcycle, and hopes the softness of it calms the shadows enough to let him slip away.

Bakura has been in the shadow realm a long time, and he knows it won’t last forever. Even as he feels otherworldly claws sinking into his skin, pulling him deeper into the madness, none of it matters as long as he can escape.

If this is truly the hell Bakura deserves after all he has done, he decides it’s not so bad. Not when he can still remember Marik’s face, and have something other than rage to comfort him in the darkness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first started writing this fic, I wasn't sure how far back to start it. I ended up wanting to focus on the afterward, because that's where my curiosity drove me. What happens to these characters next? What if they weren't satisfied with their own endings? How would they have changed over time? But I still felt it was important to establish the past relationships between the characters, and the shadow realm was a convenient way to include some flashbacks for that purpose. On that note, I think this covers the only real change to canon that I made. I pretty much stick with the manga (because who doesn't love Bakura as a malicious DM?) with Marik sticking around after Battle City. And then we're in dsod territory, minus anything to do with Diva or the cube because honestly that was too much for me to deal with lol.
> 
> Special thanks to offbeatBeauty for making me rewrite this when it was too confusing to follow, and being patient with my weird experimental nonsense. You're the best, even if we did argue for ten minutes over whether it was in character for Marik to braid Bakura's hair. If you too have a strong opinion about hair braiding, feel free to leave a comment!


	3. In Which Marik and Ryou Pull Off a Heist

“You don’t seem to understand how this works,” Marik pointed out, frustrated that they were going in circles. “A person who possesses a Millennium Item challenges another to a high stakes game; a shadow game. The loser then has to face the penalty game. Losing your soul, usually, if not outright death. When you lose your soul while your body still lives, the body is “in a coma” as far as medical science is concerned, and there’s nothing anyone can do for you. Where your soul _goes_ when you play the penalty game… that depends.”

“You’re right, I don’t get it,” Ryou agreed, chewing nervously on the edge of his lip, almost bumping his glass of water with his elbow. “Is the shadow realm real, or not?”

Marik sighed, smoothing the map down on the table in front of them to keep from tearing his hair out. “The ‘shadow realm’ isn't really a thing, exactly- its a visualization for an abstract concept.”

“Like Purgatory?”

“I guess. It’s all… incorporeal. If you know how to use shadow magic it can be shaped to your will, and that’s how the penalty games are devised.” Marik shivered when he remembered the feel of it in his hands. “You can get lost in it just as easily.”

Ryou nodded, trying to follow along, scooting his glass to a more safe location. “So, if it’s not a place you can go… how do you get there?”

“The only person who knows where souls ‘are’ and what they are experiencing is the person who sent them away. I could bring back Mai because my other self sent her there, and I knew what her prison was. I don't know where Bakura is, but I can try…” Marik shook his head, unwilling to give him false hope. “Ryou, all of this seems crazy.”

“I know,” Ryou said, looking down dejectedly at the map, wiping beads of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He didn’t exactly do well in this weather, and Ryou looked more run down than Marik remembered. “But it sounds like, if we have an Item, we have a chance. That’s all we need.”

Ryou’s confidence was both inspiring and a little concerning. “Which one should we take?” Obviously Marik was partial to the Rod, but something about seeing it again filled him with a certain trepidation, a dangerous thrill that scared him more than it excited him.

“I think we should take the Ring. The Rod was yours, but the Ring’s power was to transfer souls into other places. I know their powers are fading, but if I can just use it to move him to my virtual world…”

“You really think that’ll work?” Marik asked bluntly. He knew all the Millennium Items were powerful, but his was clearly the strongest of the group. Then again, could he really avoid the temptation of keeping it?

“Putting a soul in a digital avatar is no different from putting it into a Monster World figurine,” Ryou reasoned, adjusting his bracelet. “Its magic. It’ll work.”

Marik sighed, giving up on fighting with him about it. “The museum is keeping them for study, not for display. As much money as that would rake in, Ishizu knows that they’re dangerous. They need to be kept safe so that they don’t fall into the wrong hands. That’s the only reason she’s digging them back up.”

“So they won’t be sitting out in a glass case for us to walk in and take,” Ryou finished, pausing to take a drink. Marik watched a bead of water roll down his chin, wondering if he was feeling alright. “I figured as much. It’s kind of poetic though, isn’t it? Stealing something to bring back the Thief King?” A smile played at the edges of his wet lips, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to feel better about committing a crime.” Marik glanced at the map again, lost in thought. The act of theft itself wasn’t a problem for him, but this felt like betraying his sister, shattering what tender trust had developed between them. Would she ever be able to look at him the same after this?

“Do you know what kind of security they have?” Ryou interrupted his thoughts. “I’m not a hacker or anything, but I’m pretty sure I can take down a few cameras.”

Marik shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t think we have to worry about it. I was just going to use my keycard to get us in, and Ishizu will know it was me in the first place. She’ll cover me, but I don’t know if she’ll forgive me.”

Ryou frowned. “I’m sure we can find a way…”

If we act suspicious and mess around with cameras we’ll get caught. If I go in there like I do every day, take the item, and walk out, we’ll get it. That’s what matters, right? That’s what you wanted.” He averted his gaze, saying the words as flat and tonelessly as possible, as if not giving them emotion would keep him from feeling it.

“I don’t want you to sacrifice your family for me.” Ryou looked at him sincerely, and sadly, and it made Marik want to strangle him.

“I’m not doing this for you,” he bit back. “We’ll do it tomorrow. Let’s just get it over with.” Marik gestured vaguely to the couch Ryou was free to use, leaving the table abruptly. Ryou watched him leave, a troubled look in his eyes, but he said nothing as Marik walked away.

Marik usually had a hard time sleeping, but somehow it was worse. Every time he felt his consciousness on the edge of slipping away, he could feel a presence in the dark that made his heart start racing, unable to calm down. Was he already feeling guilty for what he was about to do? Or was it something else, _someone else_ that he had been trying so hard to forget?

When his alarm went off in the morning, Marik decided he would have to be okay with never sleeping again.

It would have been a quick ride to the museum, but Ryou refused to take Marik’s motorcycle even when offered a helmet, so the walk was long and annoying. The museum itself looked the same as it always had, imposing and almost proud, like it knew how important it was, how everything seemed to revolve around its contents. Marik wondered if it would feel any different when he was walking away, a criminal once again.

Ryou stuck close to him- too close, if he was being perfectly honest, which Marik was not in the habit of doing- shrinking back when one of the security guards glanced in their direction. Marik threw a friendly arm around his shoulder, laughing at a joke Ryou didn’t make. Once they were through the door, he gave Ryou a glare.

“Could you be any more nervous? Stop acting weird, I told you that wouldn’t work.”

Ryou bit his lip and nodded, unable to help himself from checking over his shoulder.

“Stop doing that! Act how you would if we were just here to look around the museum.” Marik sighed in exasperation, trying very hard not to lose his small amount of patience and blow their cover. It would be so much easier if he could just _force_ Ryou to do things properly.

Ryou nodded again, looking at his surroundings with genuine interest rather than apprehension. This part of the building was split into two levels, with a balcony running across the upper floors and a high vaulted ceiling. Marik always appreciated how much _space_ it felt like there was, how much light the windows let in. Even if he wasn’t particularly attached to his job, Marik had learned to love the building itself, to appreciate what he had.

He would miss this when he was gone.

After taking it in, Ryou took a decisive direction down a side hallway, past a few golden sculptures. Marik trailed behind to translate, but Ryou seemed to be mouthing the words on the plaques to himself.

As they drew further from the entryway, Ryou shot Marik a worried glance. “Are you sure about this?” he whispered.

Why did this have to be such a hassle? “Yes, I’m sure. We’re here, we’re doing it.” Marik had done so many things that were illegal and dangerous in his youth, this was barely scratching the surface. _He had killed people,_ and yet Ryou was worried about one tiny little theft?

It occurred to Marik that he and Ryou truly were nothing alike. The only thing they had in common was their goal, but Ryou was, as far as Marik was concerned, a regular person. His life had been unusual only when concerning Bakura- otherwise, he had a normal childhood, grown up with a normal family, gone to school like a normal teen, and never done anything morally questionable. Marik could not have had a more different experience. Being with Bakura was the only time things had felt… maybe not normal, but more tame, more in control.

Ryou might claim that their criminal histories didn’t bother him, but Marik didn’t quite believe it. Things should go smoothly enough, but what if Marik, say... blackmailed a security guard to let them through without scrutiny? He could do it. Marik habitually cataloged information about people, since it was his only method of leverage. It was harder than peeking directly into someone’s mind, but a little extra work and pawns moved where you wanted them to, just like always. He had a feeling Ryou wouldn’t be okay with that, despite how much worse it could be.

And why would he? For Marik and Bakura, it was a matter of survival. They were willing to do what they had to, no matter the cost. Ryou claimed the same, but when it came down to it, Marik doubted that someone that kind-hearted, someone who was truly _good_ inside would be capable of the kinds of things he did without a second thought.

They continued to act casual and wander down the hallway before Marik found what he was looking for. “Back here,” he called, fishing his keys out of his pocket and unlocking the door, ushering Ryou inside before closing it behind him. It was unusual for Marik to be in the back rooms unless he was looking for his sister, but she wasn’t supposed to come to work until later and security wouldn’t think to stop him, so they were in the clear.

The non public area of the museum was no less tidy, but there was a stuffiness to it, more like a warehouse than a gallery. Marik had helped organize and date everything, although they hadn’t gotten it all in the computer system yet.

Ryou finally relaxed, looking around as they descended the stairs. “There’s a lot more here than at the Domino museum,” he noted. As an afterthought he added, “I guess a lot of the exhibits were temporary.”

“My sister hasn’t sorted through all of it yet,” Marik supplied. “There’s been a lot of digs recently, and everything needs to be documented and sorted and researched so it’s… a lot.” When Marik was young and angry, he hadn’t realized just how much effort Ishizu put into her work, for the sake of the future she wanted. He had only seen her as an obstacle to his goals, never realizing the sacrifices she was willing to make to do the right thing. What she thought was the right thing, anyway. Marik wasn’t so sure what was right anymore, but he knew that he was proud of her. Now that pride twisted in his gut. “I’m sure the Millennium Items are further in, come on.”

They delved deeper into the depths of the museum, ignoring the towering shelves containing wonders they weren’t here to steal. Marik’s heart was beating too fast, adrenaline rushing when it was altogether unnecessary. He knew they weren’t going to get caught, and yet every time he thought he saw something out of the corner of his eyes- his own stray hair, usually- he jumped, which made Ryou jump as well.

Finally they reached the back, into an area Marik had never been to before. His job had never required him to go looking, although of course he was naturally curious what Ishizu was keeping from him. He didn’t have to ask. Marik didn’t want to ask, honestly, because then Ishizu would be forced to admit she was hiding something in the first place, and she would try to explain that it wasn’t because she didn’t trust him, she was just trying to _protect him,_ and then Marik would get angry and say that she didn’t protect him the one time he needed her so why start now, and then they would both be upset and everything would be messed up again. So instead Marik pretended he didn’t notice, even though he knew what she was hiding.

The metal door barring their entry had a keypad on the side, which Ryou scrutinized. “I recognize this. It’s KaibaCorp security tech. So he did make that deal…”

“Can you break into it?” Marik asked a little too hopefully. Criminal mastermind that he may have been, that was due in no small part to magic, and Marik didn’t have that tool at his disposal any longer.

“My company makes it, that doesn’t mean I know anything about how to break it,” Ryou said, annoyed. “I’m not really good with hardware. If you know the code, that will get us in. It should be six digits.”

Marik sighed, then thought for a moment. The obvious choice was a date. What would Ishizu want to remember? “Try my birthday.”

Ryou groaned. “Really? A family member’s birthday is one of the worst passwords you could pick, right behind 123456 and Password.” He went to punch in the numbers but stopped, awkwardly.

“It’s December 23rd.”

“Hold on” Ryou interrupted, looking away nervously. “I don’t want to leave fingerprints. And if you’re wrong the system will make note of that-”

“Gods’ sake, Ryou.” Marik shoved him aside and punched in the numbers himself, listening to the door ding in approval. “I don’t know what you’re so afraid of.” It wasn’t as if he had anything to lose. It wasn’t as if doing this would destroy what little he had built.

This room was temperature controlled, which Marik found ridiculous. The Millennium Items hadn’t exactly been handled carefully when used by their previous owners, and they managed not to fall apart. One of them was inside someone’s eye socket, for crying out loud.

The case that held the Items was also locked. Before Marik had a chance to complain, Ryou stepped in. “I can get this one.”

“So you can’t hack things, but you know how to pick locks?” Marik asked, watching Ryou fish some paper clips and bobby pins out of his pocket.

“It’s not my memory,” Ryou replied cryptically, fiddling with the lock for maybe 10 seconds before opening it. Marik almost felt like mentioning that his fingerprints might be on the lock now, but decided against it.

Ryou’s hands shook where they rested on the case, his breathing shallow. Marik could feel it too. It wasn’t a very strong pulse of magic, but it was there, just under the slim veil of reality, whispering in their ears.

He slowly opened the case, and they stared at the contents in silence.

They weren’t all there.

The Puzzle, the Eye, the Rod, and most of the Ring was missing.

“How can this be it?” Ryou demanded, voice raising. “You said they dug the Items back up, you said-”

“I've never been in this room,” Marik finally admitted. “Nobody trusted me enough to let me in. I didn't know.” He wondered if the Rod actually was somewhere in the museum, hidden where even he couldn’t find it. Did his sister really distrust him that much? She clearly had a good reason, but it still hurt. Maybe it was worse knowing that she was right.

Ryou dragged his hand across the case, heartbreak in his eyes. “What do we do?”

“Grab the needles,” Marik commanded. They didn’t have a lot of time before Ishizu showed up for work, and if the guards mentioned anything about Marik and his suspicious friend, this would be a whole lot harder. Jumping on a plane before anyone noticed was one thing, trying to get out of the country as a fugitive was another.

Ryou huffed and picked them up. Only two. They only had _two_ , and the Ring itself was gone. In his haste Ryou poked his finger on the sharp end, drawing blood. He suppressed a shiver.

“I have a dumb idea,” Ryou said, unbending the paperclips and fitting them through the slots in the needles. “Swap these with your earrings.”

“They look nothing alike!” Marik protested, keeping his voice low. “She’ll notice right away.” It almost made him wish they busted in here like a bank heist instead, with guns and disguises and complicated drills or a hacker or explosives. Then maybe it would be fun, and Marik would feel anything other than guilt.

“We don’t know how often they check on these,” Ryou reasoned, sounding a little too desperate. “And if she sees them, she’ll know it was you.” _And then we’ll get away with it, because she’ll let you go_ was what Ryou left unspoken, but Marik understood regardless.

He could see where the logic was coming from, although it still seemed like a very lame way to pull off a heist. Marik supposed he tended to overcomplicate his plans. He took his earrings out and laid them in place of the needles. Ryou should have like, 3d printed some fakes. These weren’t the same width or height, and Marik couldn’t remember the last time he had been without them, but he supposed they had no better options. In a way, using them as an exchange was both a punishment and a sign. He was losing something that mattered to him, something more concrete than his relationship with his sibling, and he deserved that loss. When Ishizu found their father’s earrings hiding in the case, Marik’s message would be clear: _I’m leaving my family behind for this._

Marik threaded the paperclips through his piercings, which hurt a little bit, and tossed his hair to hide his ears, pulling Ryou by the arm away from the scene of the crime.

“Do you think this will be enough?”

“We’ll make it work,” Marik snapped. “Pull yourself together, we need to walk out of here.”

Ryou tried to recover from the shock of everything falling apart so quickly, but he was too easy to read. Marik tugged him along, silently dreading the looks security would give him when they saw someone who was clearly not an employee being lead around miserably. Marik took the hallways that would cause the least amount of confrontation, but stopped just before the doors.

He shot Ryou a look that said _don’t blow this_ and threw an arm around Ryou’s shoulder, mumbling sympathetically.

The guard raised an eyebrow at the scene.

“Bad breakup,” Marik explained gently, with a pat to Ryou’s shoulder. “I know i’m not supposed to bring people to work, but Ishizu said it was alright. He had nowhere else to go.”

Ryou thankfully he remained silent.

“You can stay at my place, alright? It’s going to be okay. I’ll walk you there.”

Ryou nodded, passing by the guards without incident.

It was all far easier than Marik expected, honestly. The way his life usually worked, something disastrous would have happened by now. He breathed a sigh of relief when they were out of sight of the guards. “We did it,” he said to himself, fully accepting the reality. There was no turning back now. He had set himself firmly on this path, and Marik would not waver from it no matter what regrets he carried.

“Bad breakup?” Ryou asked, rubbing at his eyes.

“It was the first thing I could think of that would make you look so utterly ruined,” Marik countered. “Honestly, I don’t know why you’re so upset. You knew this was a longshot, and we didn’t come up empty handed.”

“I know… I know. I just…” Ryou took a few deep breaths. “What do we do now?”

Marik sighed, looking down the street. “Let’s just go home.”

They didn’t talk for awhile, both pondering their choices in the matter. They were already partners in crime, there must be _something_ they could do. The business of the street forced them to stick close together, and the morning sun already had a target on Ryou.

Once Ryou’s eyes had dried and he looked less shaken, he spoke up again. “Okay, so the rest of the Ring is missing. All the Millennium Items disappeared when the Pharaoh was laid to rest, never to be disturbed again. But if I know anything about human nature, someone else will just dig them up again. That's why the museum is trying so hard to find them before someone else does.”

“Yeah, but they've been looking for years,” Marik said, disheartened at their chances of finding the pieces alone.

“The thing is, I talked talked to Kaiba once- well, not really talked, there was a board meeting about whether or not to aid the museum and offer security, and I popped in to tell them security wasn't our strength considering i’d been listening to those meetings for awhile-”

“And Kaiba didn't instantly fire you?” Marik interrupted.

“Oh, he can’t fire me,” Ryou said quickly, continuing before Marik could question it. “Anyway, he’s been looking for the Puzzle, and nobody knows why.”

Marik remembered what Ryou had said about the security systems, and finally put two and two together. “That’s what Ishizu’s been arguing about on the phone, huh? That explains a lot.” Why did Kaiba want the Puzzle? If anything he should want the Rod, since that was supposed to be his item from ancient times, and it would surely tug at him the way it did to Marik. Plus it was conveniently two pieces rather than dozens. Then again, Kaiba seemed to like doing things the hard way.

“Well, I was thinking, what if all the pieces to the Puzzle aren't in the same place? It would be almost impossible for someone to collect them all and assemble it a second time. Alone the pieces aren't really a danger, and the Ring is the same. Its power is weak, but I think it can still point the way to itself.”

“What if they’re in a tomb?” Marik pointed out. They didn’t have the equipment or personnel to go digging through tombs and pyramids. The Ring could very well be somewhere neither of them could hope to reach.

“I'm not sure why they would be…” Ryou trailed off. “But you lived in one right?”

“That doesn't mean I know how to rob one!” Marik exclaimed, offended at the notion. “That was Bakura’s job!” He looked around the street to make sure no one had heard him, but they were at his apartment anyways. They ducked inside, taking the stairs two at a time, relieved to have officially gotten away with their crime.

“Well we can't just give up,” Ryou continued, darting off into Marik’s apartment. “Hold on, I brought a map.” While he searched, Marik pulled the paperclips out and freed the Ring’s needles. They just felt like regular gold, as lifeless as any other rock. It was hard not to be discouraged.

Ryou ran back into the room, smoothing his map down across the table. There were a few notes and circles on it, but it was readable. “Look, lets just see if it'll lead us anywhere. “ He positioned one needle in the middle of the map and gave it a flick, watching it spin like a bottle before stopping. He respun it a few times to prove his theory, each time landing in the same exact spot.

“Okay, so if we’re right… here,” Ryou pointed. “Then the pieces need to be somewhere in this direction.” He traced the line from the needle across the map. “This will only give us a vague direction until we get closer. So let’s figure out what’s on this side of the map which could possibly…” Ryou stopped short, sucking in a breath.

Marik looked up, concerned. “What?”

“You were there for the final game, right?”

“I wanted to help,” Marik said, his voice tight with a controlled tone. “Bakura needed the help. Bastard didn’t put me in the game, though. You didn’t even make me a piece.” He was still angry about being left in the dark about the whole thing. Up until the actual game itself Marik was part of the plan… and then it was all just over, and Bakura was gone without a trace. It took a lot for Marik not to break down while his siblings were guiding the Pharaoh’s vessel, but considering the way Odion hugged him for awhile on the boat, Marik suspected they knew about his last-ditch effort at betrayal.

 

Thinking about Odion was a mistake. He had nothing to do with the museum, of course. Marik and Ishizu had both insisted that Odion find his own passions in life, rather than spending it focused on them. He had already sacrificed so much for family, and every day Marik looked at his face he was reminded of that. That was part of why Marik wanted to live alone, why they didn’t talk much.

Marik wondered if Ryou felt like that all the time. Like you were deeply involved in something, vital to the outcome, only to miss it completely. Only for the world to keep on turning without you.

“I only did what he told me,” Ryou said defensively, shaking his head. “Anyway, you remember the map I made? I think I know where the Ring is on _that_ map, but i’m not sure how it overlaps with this one…”

“Can you draw one or something?” Marik suggested. “If you have the pyramids we can work our way from there, I can try to match them up so we know where we’re going.”

“That might actually work. Okay, hold on.” Ryou dug through his belongings for a pen and notebook, retrieving one from the front pocket and laying it out in front of them. A few doodles of duel monsters growled at them from the scrap pages, which he turned over for a fresh one.

“Wait,” Marik said. “Do you think he’ll be mad at us?” Marik wasn’t sure why it mattered. In one day he had pissed off everyone that cared about him. But it was supposed to be a trade. Marik didn’t want to lose the last thing he had left, to fail at his final gamble.

“Why would you think that?” Ryou clicked the top of his pen nervously, which was incredibly annoying.

“Kul elna. That's where it has to be, right. Or at least the biggest piece. It won't be haunted anymore, but its still not right, trespassing where the dead have been laid to rest and digging up their remains.” Even Ishizu hadn’t upset those hallowed grounds. Marik wasn’t sure he could set foot there and not feel like he was disrespecting everything he believed in. But he’d already run everything else into the ground, right? Why should another transgression make a difference?

“I don't know. Maybe. Probably. But like you said, the spirits have moved on. They're free. And i'm sure his family wouldn't want him to suffer for trying to help them,” Ryou reasoned.

“Yeah I guess.” He had a point, but it still felt wrong, in a way that didn’t need words. “I just feel like we’re going to do all this stuff and get him back despite the odds and the first thing he's gonna do is punch me in the face.”

“If he doesn’t, we’ll know we have the wrong spirit.” Ryou gave him a reassuring smile before drawing his map on the scrap paper, checking his phone a few times for reference.

“Yeah.” Marik played with a needle, lost in thought. He almost didn’t notice when it cut into his fingertip.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that wasn't very exciting. Hopefully you guys aren't feeling as let down as Marik, lol. An exciting heist with explosions just didn't seem to fit the tone of this fic, so I went for a more introspective journey. I tend to focus more on how a character feels about whats going on than the plot itself, so it was less about the theft and more about how Marik feels about the theft, if you get what I mean. I struggled with this chapter a bit because of the lack of action, but once I focused on Marik's emotions I think I got it into a place where it was interesting to read again. I find Marik the most difficult to write, and Bakura the easiest. They're both complicated so i'm not sure why Marik is trickier for me, but his chapters often take me to unexpected places, which is always fun. 
> 
> I've been trying to update this weekly since most of this fic is already written and i'm just editing like crazy, but my work schedule is unpredictable so it might not always be the same day of the week. 
> 
> As always, special thanks to offbeatBeauty for editing, and also teaching me how to use ao3. It really should not be that hard, and yet I find a way to be confused. Speaking of which, I think I figured out links! I'm on tumblr at [ryokenkonami](https://ryokenkonami.tumblr.com/) if you want to talk, especially if it's about the latest vrains episode. Otherwise, feel free to leave a comment! I love talking about writing so my replies tend to be long but I really appreciate it.
> 
> EDIT: my editor, fellow card game enthusiast, and personal Seto Kaiba impersonator offbeatBeauty finally posted her part in this story. As I was writing this, she kept asking me about Kaiba and his space elevator and his role in everything (which I admit, is kind of important), and finally she decided to just take over and do what she does best. Our fanfics take place in the same timeline and will have moments that kind of cross over, where mine will focus on thiefshipping and hers will focus on prideshipping. So if you're curious about the other side to this coin, check it out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14815121/chapters/34281620) It's not necessary to understand whats going on in this one, but it would be really nice of you! Alright i'm running out of characters for my long ass notes so i'm gonna go before I think of something else and make things worse. See you next udpate!


	4. In Which The Pieces Come Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a bit short, but I decided it was easier to follow the flow of the story if this part was its own chapter rather than including it with the next one. To make up for it, I'll try to have the next chapter up tonight or tomorrow. 
> 
> I don't know if I need to warn anyone for Marik's backstory since we all saw it in canon, but Marik deals with some bad memories in this chapter just as a heads up.

 

The desert was merciless. 

Ryou had been to Egypt before, a long time ago. A lifetime ago, really. His memories were undetailed, hard to grasp. Trailing after his father, dusty skirt bouncing every step. The heaviness of gold and Something Else in his small hands. The sunburn that had peeled for a week afterwards. 

He shook his head, wiping the sweat out of his eyes. He didn’t remember  _ this _ . The blazing heat from direct sunlight, the oppressive weight of it against his skin, the sand causing his steps to be uneven and awkward.

“Wouldn’t it be better to go at night?” Ryou asked timidly, hoping he wasn’t at risk of sounding ungrateful.

Marik shook his head, but gave no further explanation, the gold in his hair gleaming in the brightness of the afternoon. 

Ryou sighed and trailed after him. This would all be worth it in the end. He had always believed that.

Marik finally spoke when Ryou’s suffering was reaching its peak, the heat seeming to press in around him. “If your map is right then we’re almost there.”

Ryou took a celebratory second to breathe, hands on his knees. They were close. His entire outfit was soaked in so much sweat he might get hypothermia come nightfall and it had probably washed off all his sunscreen and Marik was surely sick and tired of him, but they were _ close _ . 

When Ryou caught up to Marik again, there wasn’t much to look at. “Is this… are we here?” He looked around, at the flat expanse of desert around him.

“It’s not far from my clan’s tomb,” Marik said, his voice so soft it was almost carried away by the stifling air. 

“Oh.” It was far too late for Ryou to feel guilty about all of this now, so he shook it off as best he could, trying to think about something else. There was a tension between them he wasn’t sure how to defuse. He didn’t really know Marik very well, and it bothered Ryou more than it should. 

What had he been expecting? Of course this would be awkward, he hadn’t seen Marik in years, and he had asked for so much, and now they were in the middle of the desert. Marik was taking things pretty well, all things considered. Ryou should appreciate that fact alone and stop worrying so much.

“Start digging, I guess.” Marik said curtly, throwing his hands up in the air. His dark shirt was also damp, but it didn’t cling to him as much as Ryou’s did. “Why the hell not?”

“Are you alright?” Ryou couldn’t help but ask, feeling his bracelet between his fingers. He wanted to fix whatever this weirdness was, but he didn’t know where to start. 

“Never been better!”

“Marik-”

Marik huffed and dropped to his knees, staring at the Ring’s needle for a moment before flicking it into the sand, watching it roll to a stop. 

Ryou brushed the never-ending sweat away from his forehead again, his eyes stinging. “Listen, I… I know it’s been years, but I’m sorry for… I still feel bad for the way that I… handled things, last time we talked. Before all of this, I mean.”

“I  _ know _ . All you ever do is feel bad for other people,” Marik retorted with an eye roll. “You’re always sorry, and you’re always carrying everyone else’s burdens.” He turned his attention back to the sand as he continued. “You know what I’ve learned in my lifetime, Ryou? That sometimes life just fucking sucks! It’s not fair, but that’s the way it is, and we all have to deal with it in our own way. If you want to pile everyone else’s baggage on top of your own issues, it’s not really my problem. What is my problem is being in the desert right now, so let’s get this over with, okay?”

Ryou reeled, taken aback by the sudden aggression. “What’s wrong?” He asked again. There was no way he could help when he didn’t know what the problem was. Things were easier with Bakura. Despite the spirit refusing to share his thoughts, Ryou often knew the source of his feelings without needing words. Other people were more difficult, as strange as that may be.

Marik glared up at him, his eyes the only cold thing in this place. “You don’t really care, so don’t ask.”

“I do care.” Ryou wasn’t sure where this was all coming from, but it couldn’t be purely his fault. Something else was going on, something Marik didn’t want to talk about. Ryou knew he should leave it alone, but it was hard when someone was clearly hurting.

“No, you don’t.” Marik ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with the entire situation. “You told me that, remember?”

Ryou took a step towards him. “No, see, this is what I was worried about. I tried to explain it to you- me and Florence shared a body and a mind, and some of his thoughts and feelings would get mixed up with mine. That doesn’t mean I didn’t… Well, I mean, I guess not like  _ that _ , but I still care about you as a person, and I don’t want you to hate me for dragging you out here and-”

“Just stop, okay? Stop feeling sorry for me.” Marik’s anger faded away as quickly as it appeared. “I don’t hate you, Ryou, but we aren’t friends. You really don’t have to care what I think. You’re the one willing to do anything to get Bakura back, so…if you can commit to doing something morally questionable, who cares if you hurt my feelings? I did worse things for worse reasons. Trust me, it isn’t that hard.” His gaze was fixed firmly at the ground.

Ryou stared, not knowing what to say. Maybe it was better to just… leave things like this. It felt wrong- standing here in this place, with the stolen Ring split between them, and Marik clearly upset while he kneeled in the sand- but this was all for the greater good, right?

Ryou silently got to work, mind still grappling with Marik’s harsh words. He almost didn’t realize he had the Ring until Marik gasped. 

The center was still in one piece, it’s eye watching them benignly. Ryou brushed off the sand, holding it close to his chest. It felt… different, somehow, in a way he couldn’t place. There was nothing comforting about holding it, and if anything Ryou felt more alone than ever. 

Something instinctual told Ryou he was the only person that could have dug out the Ring. As if the desert sands themselves were alive, obscuring the relics in their depths until the time was right to let them go. 

“What do we do now?”

Marik shrugged. “Put it back together.”

As if it were that simple.

Ryou looked at the connecting circles between the needles and their place on the Ring’s centerpiece. Something Ryou couldn’t explain told him that the needles in his possession belonged on the outermost edges. When Ryou held them there, they seemed to snap on magnetically, and he decided not to question how the circles magically interlocked because, well, magic. 

He held the Ring horizontally, watching the needles as they dangled. They didn’t quite have it in them to point the way, but they trembled slightly, as if they were trying. Ryou could feel the pull of it, and knew which direction they had to go. “It wants us to go that way.”

Marik nodded with a grim understanding, his expression severe. He kept a quick pace that caused Ryou to stumble after him, as if slowing down would tempt him to change his mind. Marik stopped only when they reached some sort of ruins, a few crumbled rocks creating abstract shapes in the otherwise featureless desert. 

Ryou almost bumped into him, looking around. “Where are we?”

“I haven’t been here since the day I left,” Marik said, his clenched fists digging his nails into his palms. “I swore I would never go back.”

“You don’t have to go,” Ryou said quickly. This was his plan, after all, and once he had all the needles he would come right back. “I can get them by myself.”

“No, I do,” Marik insisted. “This is part of it, you get that right? They’re hidden where only we can find them. It’s like… a trial, I guess. To prove we deserve it. Or at least want it bad enough.” He looked down at the ground, his foot digging into the sand, brushing it away to reveal something underneath. “I have to.”

Ryou decided not to argue. The Millennium Items had a mind of their own, after all, and he couldn’t deny that Marik might be right. But even so... It wasn’t fair to force Marik to relive something so terrible. 

Maybe… Maybe it could be a good thing? Maybe seeing his old home would help give him closure?

God, that was terrible wishful thinking. It was like saying Ryou would be fine after looking at the wreckage of his family’s car. He felt bad just thinking it, even if he hadn’t said it out loud.

Marik opened the trapdoor hidden by the sand, staring into the darkness with a kind of honest fear Ryou had never seen before. He had known Marik as the ruler of his own empire, the cocky teenager with everything to prove, never the child that had been broken in this very place. 

Before Ryou could second guess himself, he took Marik’s hand in his own, ignoring the build up of sweat between their palms. He pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight, illuminating the precarious steps that led down into the earth. 

Marik looked at him, trying to erase the fear from his face, giving Ryou a half-hearted smile and squeezing his hand gratefully.

Together they descended into the tomb, their hopes their only guide.

 

*******

 

Marik’s skin crawled the further down he went, the abrupt drop in temperature giving him goosebumps. His body- maybe even his soul- could feel that something here was wrong. Despite being buried in darkness and silence, the energy of this place had not died.

Marik gripped Ryou’s hand tightly. It did nothing to ease the fear inside of him, but it reminded him that this was not a nightmare, that they had chosen to enter together. Ryou must have figured the gesture was enough, because he did not speak. Either that, or the heavy, mournful silence that filled the air was better left undisturbed.

It was easy enough to navigate the various stone tunnels, his feet remembering the way. Marik tried to do so without touching anything. Simply feeling the familiar stone beneath his shoes was bad enough, a shoulder brushing the wall even worse. He wanted to leave everything as it had been all those years ago, undisturbed as if he had never come back.

“Marik, do you know where the needles will be?” Ryou whispered, his phone’s light the only waypoint. 

“Where the Rod was kept,” Marik answered with a certainty he should not have. He couldn’t know that, and yet, it just seemed like the right answer. But that would mean he’d have to go back into  _ that room,  _ and Marik felt his breath suddenly start to quicken, like he couldn’t get enough air down here, and his chest hurt and when did the room start spinning?

Ryou noticed the change, unintentionally flashing the light directly in Marik’s eyes. He let go of Marik’s hand for a moment, and Marik blindly grabbed onto it again, needing the stability.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Ryou soothed, pulling Marik into a hug. Marik wanted to push him away, hating the feeling of pressure on his back, but he couldn’t afford to lose the only thing preventing him from being alone. “There’s no one else down here. Nothing can hurt you.”

That wasn’t true. There could be tomb robbers, or snakes, or half a dozen other unlikely scenarios. But what Marik was really afraid of wasn’t so simple. He had become something different down here, and Marik could feel that dark presence more acutely than ever, lingering in his consciousness. What if it came back? What if he hurt Ryou?

Marik took a moment to try and calm himself down. After the Pharaoh had been returned, when everything was supposed to go back to normal, Ishizu had insisted on taking Marik to see various doctors. He knew she was just trying to help, but Marik hated the way they talked to him like he was a wounded animal, all the medications that were supposed to fix him, the way they all insisted Marik show them his back… He never listened to what they said, just sat through it until Ishizu said it was time to leave. 

What was Marik supposed to say? That he was a killer? That he grew up in a cult, but instead of being crazy they were right, which may or may not justify their actions? That he was pretty sure he didn't have split personality, it was more complicated than that and involved ancient cursed magic? They would throw him in an asylum. Marik accused Ishizu of wanting that to happen, and after that she stopped making him go. She still had him do breathing exercises at home up until he moved out. Marik tried to remember them, to find a way to regain control of himself.

Ryou did not let go until Marik pushed him away, his hands shaking. He needed to focus on why they were here. This was something important, something that  _ mattered _ . Marik believed in what they were doing, and he could overcome his own past to reach his goal. 

“I’m fine,” Marik reassured, brushing past Ryou. “It’s this way.” His heart was still racing, tension building up inside him, but Marik just needed to get through this as fast as possible and then get the hell out of here and it would be fine. 

Ryou followed, his footsteps the only answer. His light shined behind Marik, creating a shadow that stretched imposingly in front of them. Marik tried to ignore the sinking feeling every time he thought he saw it move, leading Ryou briskly through the rooms. 

“Is this where you slept?” Ryou asked, pausing to look in one of them. Everything was the same way Marik had left it. His back ached as he remembered sleeping on his belly for weeks, face soaked in tears. 

“I’m sorry, was I supposed to give you a tour?” Marik snapped back in an overly cheerful, bordering on murderous tone. “Of course, this is ancient history! It’s all fun and games to you, isn’t it? Well, allow me to show you!” 

“No, wait, I didn’t mean-” Marik grabbed Ryou forcefully by the wrist, dragging him down the hallway. 

“This is where my brother slept, because he wasn’t my blood relative, so he belonged in the servants quarters. I never questioned how fucked up that was.” Odion had done so much for Marik, and all he had ever noticed was what Odion failed to do instead. Whenever Marik had been left in his room, hurt and upset, Odion had been there to comfort him. But what about all the times Odion had been beaten for disobeying, for forgetting some made up rule father had decided to enforce that day? He slept here alone, enduring whatever punishment had been inflicted.

Marik turned away in disgust, tugging Ryou further. “Would you like to see my dead mother next? This is a tomb after all, my ancestors are buried here. I was supposed to die here too, and I was reminded of it every single day.” Marik typically didn’t think about her much, unless it was to beat himself up over the fact that he had managed to kill both of his parents. 

“Marik, stop!” Ryou wrenched his hand away, his phone clattering to the ground as it flung out of his hands. He scrambled to pick it up, rubbing it against his pant leg. “I know you’re upset. If I had to go back to the place where I was traumatized, I would be upset too. You don’t have to go any further if you don’t want to.”

“You think I can’t handle it?” Marik challenged, wishing he was arguing with Bakura. Then they would have a real fight, and Marik’s anger would bury whatever other emotions he was feeling, and things would be a little easier. 

But unfortunately it was Ryou, and all he had was a tender heart full of pity that Marik did not want. “I think it’s not healthy for you to push yourself this hard,” he said as diplomatically as possible. “You’re clearly angry. I am not going to be an outlet for it. I can find my way by myself.”

“I told you, I have to do this.” As much as Marik hated being here, he hated the idea of retreating even more. He needed to stare down this beast, to make it all the way through before turning back. And something about leaving Ryou to the dark made him nervous, like he’d never come back out. Marik shook his head. “I’m not leaving.” 

“Okay. Take as much time as you need. And if you don’t want to talk, then don’t. I didn’t mean to upset you, I just don’t like the silence.” 

“I don’t either,” Marik admitted, taking a few hesitant steps forward. They were close, now. “It’s just up ahead. That room is the place where I…” 

Ryou briefly brushed his shoulder with one hand before standing in the doorway, holding his phone up to illuminate the room. Marik was used to seeing it in torchlight, in soft flickering shadows. The phone’s light was harsh, each edge it created as defined as if it were an invisible barrier between the tangible darkness, providing no warmth in the cold of the earth. 

Marik still didn’t remember it. That was the worst part. He didn’t remember how it happened, or why, and he had lived a lie from that day forward. Now that he knew the truth, Marik figured he could dig out that hidden memory, superimposing his knowledge on top of it. But all he actually remembered was holding his father’s corpse, distraught and confused and scared about what this would mean, Ishizu’s face shocked and concerned, Odion’s limp body lying next to him. 

And that was bad enough.

Ryou grabbed his hand again, waiting for him to take the next steps. Marik didn’t want his help. He didn’t want Ryou of all people to be the one supporting him. After everything he put people through, with the Rod and with the shadows, he deserved to have a taste of his own medicine, to be lost in his own head.

Marik tried to move quickly, closing his eyes and ignoring the images standing so clearly in front of him. The strangest part was that Marik remembered the scene playing out as if he were watching it happen, as if it hadn’t really been him holding his father. But that didn’t make sense, because it was definitely Marik who was experiencing it, since he remembered that part. It couldn’t have been his other self taking over while he watched. So why did he still feel distant from himself? 

He reached out, eyes still closed, his world dark. He knew where the pieces would be without having to look. They felt sharp, and alive, and eager. 

“You were right,” Ryou observed, holding out the Ring. The needles trembled with a soft jingling sound, almost excited. Or was that fear, too? It was hard to tell. 

Marik opened his eyes, letting the pieces slip into place of their own accord. It was only then that he could truly breathe. This hadn’t all been for nothing. Marik was right about it being a test, and he had passed. He was stronger than this.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Ryou suggested. Marik couldn’t agree more. By the time they were at the stairs they were running, following the light in front of them and fleeing the darkness they left behind as if it might snap at their heels. When they were finally above ground, the sun hit them with full force, stinging their unadjusted eyes. Marik remembered how badly his eyes had hurt the first few months he had been free. It was a price he was more than willing to pay. 

Marik felt more tired than he ever had in his life, like he could collapse right then and there. But there was still more to do, and he didn’t want Ryou to be any worse than he already was. 

“Are you ready for what’s next?” Marik asked, turning to Ryou with determination. It was his turn to play his own role. 

Ryou nodded. “Whatever it takes,” he agreed, holding up the now completed Ring in front of him. “What do I have to do?” 

Marik could feel the energy slowly getting stronger now that it had all been collected in one place. It was still faint compared to the magic he had once wielded with the Rod, but if he could scrape enough together, Marik and Ryou should be able to make it work. It would be easier to do this where such things had occurred before. “We need to go back to Kul Elna,” Marik instructed, watching the needles of the Ring flail in agreement. “And we’re going to need your blood.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt a little bad for doing this to Marik, but ultimately it felt like a necessary step in forcing him to confront his problems. As harsh as I may be to characters sometimes, it's never without a good reason, even if I make myself sad. (Keep that in mind for some of the upcoming chapters...) Also, I gave him therapy! Sort of. Most of the yugioh characters need therapy tbh, but I doubt they would embrace that fact, especially since it would be impossible to explain all the magic stuff and therefore feel fully understood. Considering Marik was a strong willed rebellious teen, I doubt he would go along with it, based on my experience. But at least Ishizu tried. Ryou also tried his best to help, but it didn't work out very well either. I wanted to show that sometimes people need to work through their problems in their own way at their own pace, and what you would find helpful for yourself isn't necessarily what's helpful for that person.
> 
> Also, a note on inconsistencies: There were a few things that I had a hard time remembering, and the differences between the manga and the anime don't help. Was Kul Elna the town Marik and Ishizu went into when they ran into Shadi? because Shadi had the stone with all the items in it when he gave the Eye to pegasus and in dsod, and the stone was buried in Kul Elna in the memory world arc. But when they go to send Atem to the afterlife they're like in the middle of nowhere in the desert. I don't know, so I just made Kul Elna a ruin because I wanted to. If i'm wrong, then sorry I guess? On that note, I can't remember if Odion sleeps in the same room as Marik or if he has his own bedroom, because in the manga a lot of his scenes aren't even there, so I decided it would make sense that there would be a physical division of Odion from the Ishtar family as well as an emotional one. Since there's multiple versions of the yugioh story, at some points i'm just going to have to make decisions on which canon to go with and when to diverge, so thank you for bearing with me on that front.
> 
> As always, special thanks to offbeatBeauty for encouraging me to push the story in the direction it needs to go even if it makes us sad. Your friendship and support means a lot. On the note of friendship, she is writing a [prideshipping](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14815121/chapters/34281620) fic that follows the same premise/timeline as this one, although there won't be much overlap until we get back to Domino. You don't have to read hers to understand mine (or vice versa) but if you like the concept of digital resurrection and you wanna see whats up with Kaiba's space elevator, you would probably enjoy it! 
> 
> A final note in my super long notes: today I realized my Millennium Ring keychain lost two of it's needles, and I am very bummed out about it. I can't fly to Egypt to find them, so they're gone forever, and now I need to think of something else to attach to the little circle bits to replace them. If you have any good ideas or just want to talk, you can always find me on tumblr at [ryokenkonami](https://ryokenkonami.tumblr.com/) or feel free to leave a comment. See you soon with the next chapter! It's going to get kind of crazy. I hear the shadow realm is lovely this time of year.


	5. In Which Bakura Bumps the Rating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to keep updating the tags as we go, but just as a heads up: this chapter is where the violence warning comes in. Pretty much everything that happens to people in the shadows is psychologically fucked up, some more than others. In this case Bakura's guilty conscience is sort of punishing himself, and considering how much trauma he's been through, that would manifest in violent ways. I don't think anything I wrote is worse than the stuff that happens in the manga, but I wanted people to be aware of what they were getting into. His pov is the middle section if you'd rather just skip it.
> 
> As you might imagine, that means this is another shadow realm chapter. This is the last time i'll be doing the weird present tense thing, so there's some good news if that annoys you. Like I've said before, I wanted the shadow realm to feel uncomfortable and the sentence flow to be weird, and it was pretty fun to write. I hope it's fun to read.

Ryou is back in his soul room. It’s a recurring dream he still has some nights, when he manages to sleep at all. It looks different depending on the day and Bakura’s mood, but the one thing that never changes is that the door is always locked.

The real question is: is this a dream, or reality? That’s what scares Ryou more than anything, the not knowing.

He wakes up in a hospital bed, the overhead lights dimmed to help him sleep. He sits up slowly, taking in his surroundings, the heaviness of his limbs. He notices a bandage on his arm, and pokes at it experimentally, feeling nothing.

He wonders how he got hurt, tracing absently at the scar on his left hand. Bakura must have suppressed the pain for him. What a strange kindness. The spirit has no choice but to keep Ryou alive, though that doesn’t change the fact that he can easily hurt Ryou without consequence. He has done it before. Strange.

Ryou swings his legs over the bed and stands up, stretching. Its unsatisfying without a body. Frowning, Ryou pads on bare feet to the door, testing it. To his surprise it yields to him without resistance.

He feels a trace of a memory coming back to him. He remembers this day, this moment…

Battle City. The tournament. That was the first time he found a way out of his soul room, the first time he felt the cold thing that lurked in the hallways of his heart, the first time he discovered another soul room and realized that the spirit living inside him- Florence, he stubbornly called him, not a spirit, a person- was just as trapped as Ryou was.

But why is he back here? Ryou’s head pounds, and he leans against the door frame to catch himself. He knows he has to find something. Someone. He can’t remember, but he has to keep moving, to keep looking…

After peeking into the hall to make sure the coast is clear, Ryou creeps along the empty corridors, following an invisible pulling that draws him onward. Without the warmth of the bed the hallways feel uncomfortably breezy and unwelcoming, wide empty passages mostly undefined unless scrutinized. The lingering sensation of being watched tugs at his heels, and he knows he’s forgetting something, but what?

He finds himself in front of the other room, still covered in heavy padlocks that keep them locked away from each other. Ryou jingles the chains uselessly, knowing it will be just as locked as it always is. He never did find out what was behind this door. Is that why he is back? To find the answers to a question he has been carrying for years?

Ryou hears voices behind it, too muffled to make out any words. He pulls at the chains again, but recoils in pain as something lashes out and shoves him away, knocking him onto the floor.

Ryou stares at the door. He’s here to find Bakura. He needs to find Bakura and take him home. But how can he get in when he never has before? He closes his eyes and tries to remember how this went last time, during Battle City, when he was barely conscious long enough to find out what was happening to him, when he was truly trapped here.

He heard a noise. That was how it started.

 

_“Who’s there?” Ryou asked, trying not to sound afraid. What dark things lurked here inside of him, invited by the Ring? The things that watched him, that followed him from hall to hall, waiting?_

_...Maybe it was just a trick of the light. His counterpart walked towards him, calmer than usual. “Up already are we? You always were tougher than anyone believed. Though I haven't made the mistake of underestimating you since this.” He lifted his hand, showing off the matching scar on the palm._

_“Whats going on?” Ryou asked, clutching his bandaged arm. “Why am I here?”_

_Bakura gave him a sour look. “You're badly wounded. I figured this was better than the hospital bed I’m sleeping in.”_

_Ryou knew it was impossible to get a straight answer out of him. That was fine. He had other ways of getting information. “Are we winning?”_

_Bakura crossed his arms impassively. “What?”_

_“You're in a tournament, aren't you?” Ryou clarified. “Are we winning?”_

_“No. Just lost, actually.”_

_Ryou remembered pieces; the cold metal against his knees, his friends yelling from the sidelines, voices arguing in his head, angry and… afraid? And then he…_

_“You lost, to protect me.” He knew it was probably all part of the plan, but… what if it wasn’t? What if, in some small way, the spirit cared? Maybe… that hope was enough for now. “Thank you.”_

_Bakura scowled. “I know this may come as a surprise to you, but I do actually need you intact. This ridiculous tournament isn’t worth our lives.”_

_Ryou was quick to change the subject from the topic of his death. “Do you know what this door is?” He pointed at it._

_“I have an idea,” Bakura answered, a slight grin returning. “Think of it like a friend coming to visit.”_

_“I have more people inside me? How many can even fit?”_

_Bakura’s grin melted into a full on smirk. “Depends on how flexible you are.”_

_Ryou rolled his eyes. “I mean it. You make sense, we’re… you know. Connected. But who is this?” He pushed at the unfamiliar stone door, feeling for some mechanism that would let him through._

_The door shuddered, slipping open just a crack, with only darkness peeking through the edges._

_“Hello?” Ryou called, trying to figure out what you say to someone who decided to take up residence in your head uninvited._

_“No need to be rude, Marik. My host has been quite accommodating, after all.”_

_A pair of purple eyes peered out from the darkness, blown wide with fear. “Bakura?” after glancing around the hall and skimming past Ryou, they found a home in the twin next to him and softened with recognition._

_“What’s wrong? Never been trapped in a hellish nightmare of torment before? Don't worry, you get used to it. Come on.” Bakura took him by the arm and pulled him out of the soul room. He wasn’t exactly gentle, but there was something deliberate and careful in the interaction that puzzled Ryou._

_“This is… none of this is real.” Marik sighed in relief._

_“Um, hi.” Ryou waved awkwardly. “You're the guy who thought it was a great idea to risk my life right? And now you're just… here. Cool, cool.”_

_The boy with the purple eyes frowned, his hands going to his hips. “You weren't in any danger. My plan would have worked if Bakura didn't screw it up.”_

_Bakura rolled his eyes. “Yes, it's my fault your evil alter ego is trying to kill everyone on this ship.”_

_“I know the feeling,” Ryou said with a pointed glare._

_“Oh please, if I wanted everyone dead I wouldn't be helping Marik right now.”_

_The spirit never did anything for free. He was getting something else out of this deal, something he was leaving out. Maybe Marik didn’t even realize what he was promising when he made a deal in the first place. If Ryou could get some details, maybe…_

_They continued bickering, interrupting any thoughts of mutiny._

_“Yes,” Marik agreed sarcastically. “You've certainly helped me by stabbing your host and then losing a card game. What would I do without your help Bakura.”_

_“You stabbed me? Why did you stab me?” Ryou demanded. It came as no surprise, but he was still understandably upset at being dumped in the hospital yet again._

_Bakura ignored him in favor of Marik. “Do you want my help defeating that thing or not? I didn't have to let you in, and neither did he.” he gestured to Ryou, as if he had any say in this, as if he even understood what was happening._

_“Fine. Let’s just get this over with.” Marik crossed his arms, harboring a vulnerable look on his face he couldn’t quite mask._

_“I don't know what you're doing, Florence, but be careful,” Ryou pleaded. Not just for his own sake, but for everyone. “You tend not to.”_

_Bakura scowled at the name, but otherwise did not share Ryou’s concern. “Believe me, for once I am trying. If we fail this time… well, you might finally be rid of me after all. I’m sure you’ll enjoy your freedom before you get stabbed to death by a maniac.”_

_Ryou didn't respond, watching them fade away, something heavy settling in his heart._

 

Ryou focuses on that heaviness, on the dreamlike-feeling of the soul rooms. He remembers what Marik told him, about this not being real, about how memories and emotions are his only guide. He remembers that day as clearly as he can, opens his eyes, and reaches for the door.

 

*******

 

He is being burned alive.

Bakura feels the tendrils of flame dancing across his skin, every nerve alight. If he is screaming he can’t hear it, but his body is crying out, hands grasping for something that isn’t there. Columns of smoke rise in the edges of his vision, stinging his eyes, choking him. He cannot breathe, or fight, but he tries.

His tears leave cool tracks of relief on his blazing cheeks as he watches everything burn. His home, the only one he has ever known, crumbles away into ash. Bakura wishes it would happen to him, too, but no matter how hot the flames or how long they eat away at him, he doesn’t break. The ashes are blown by a gust of wind that hits him in the face, and as he blinks them away he sees his apartment- Ryou’s apartment- with flames licking up the walls.

Bakura calls out for Ryou, but he can do nothing as the building burns away.

Bakura can’t think about Ryou, he can’t- but it's too late, he’s standing here too, a sad smile on his face as the flames tear him apart. Bakura reaches for him, but he can’t move, can’t change what is happening, what has already happened.

“It’s okay,” Ryou says, skin melting from his bones in streams of liquid gold.

Bakura’s sobbing shakes his whole body. The shadows tried to take his parents, his family, but he can’t remember their faces well enough to be tortured by them, and somehow this is worse than that. Bakura knows that smile, knows that this is all his fault, that everything around him will always burn.

Finally Bakura breaks free of whatever force is holding him back, only to catch the dripping metal in his hands, stabbing into him like the points of the Ring, and Ryou is gone again.

Guilt burns as much as smoke in his throat. Bakura’s heart constricts when he is alone again, wishing he could see Ryou die one more time, because at least then he knows that all the other times weren’t real- they can’t be real, this _can’t be real-_

The intensity of the flames decreases enough that Bakura is not quite numb to it, and he blinks away enough tears to find himself in a tomb he’s robbed before. He hears someone else screaming, whipping around until he can find where its coming from, ash-covered hair sticking to the raw wetness of his face.

Bakura has never seen this before, but it is exactly how he imagined it, a dark nightmare that has to be worse than the reality. Marik is laying in front of him, his back drenched in blood and ink. A hooded figure heats up his knife in the flames consuming Bakura, sinking the blade into Bakura’s cheek, just under his eye. All he can make out is the man’s smile before he turns the blade on Marik again, burying it to the hilt and dragging it down the boy’s back in one long, savage stroke.

Bakura screams louder when the knife is in Marik.

There's too much blood. It can't be real, the details aren’t right, this doesn’t make sense, there’s too much blood- but Bakura can feel himself slipping away. He closes his eyes, ready to bleed out, for the flame to finally sputter and die, but his relief never comes.

“Bakura.”

He opens his eyes, endless hallways stretching around him, the hollow darkness of the Ring creeping around the unexplored corners. Bakura walks towards his soul room and burns his hand on the knob, which reminds him that he is not on fire anymore. It is a small relief.

“Bakura, it’s me.”

He recognizes the voice, but his heart can't take one more death. “Go away,” he manages to get out.

“I'm trying to help. Come here.”

Bakura trembles as he reaches for the handle again, hesitating. He tries to remember something good, but it takes too much energy to think. “I don't want your help,” he hisses. “You're just going to die. Go away.”

The voice is silent, and that stings more than the burns. Bakura swears and opens the door quickly, slamming it shut behind him. “Ryou?” he dares to breathe.

The room is a stone prison. Iron bars line the walls, shackles placed every few feet. Strapped in one of them is Ryou, his body limp where he hangs, light skin marred with bruises.

Bakura runs to him, looking for a lock he’s sure he can pick. Ryou tilts his head slightly, as if that’s all he can do. “Why did you put me here?”

Bakura shakes his head. He doesn't know. He doesn’t know and he’s sorry and fuck, the metal is digging into Ryou’s wrists and making him bleed, and where is the fucking lock?

“All you ever did was hurt me, when I just wanted to help.”

“It's your fault! Why would you try to save someone like me? Of course I hurt you! If you were too stupid to realize it then you deserved… you deserved...” Bakura refocuses his effort on trying to pull the metal support out of the wall, fingernails scrabbling against stone. “No, I… I never did this to you, I don’t…” He shakes his head, helplessly pulling at chains that refuse to break.

Ryou laughs sardonically, so unlike him it distracts Bakura. “Admit it, you like hurting me. You like seeing me like this, that's why you keep thinking about it.”

“No, I’m not. I don’t. I’m trying to stop this,” Bakura says, pleadingly, but he knows that this thing won’t listen to him.

“No matter what you did, I was still there, and that made you feel less alone. You can burn me alive, and I’ll be here, just for you.”

“I don’t want that!” Bakura screams, his throat still raw from smoke and tears. He knows there’s no point, he can’t control any of this anymore, he is losing himself, but it’s so much worse than it ever was before.

“This is all in your head, Bakura. If you don’t want me to suffer, then just stop thinking about it. You can’t, can you?”

Bakura shakes his head. “That’s not how it works. Ryou, I…” he stops short when he realizes Ryou is bleeding from a 5-pointed wound in his chest.

He grins, blood dribbling out of his mouth. “Kill me. It's the only way for you to die. We’re connected, see?”

“I can’t.” Bakura can’t do this. He thought he could handle this, he thought he could fight it, but he’s drowning, ever so slowly, and he can’t do this anymore.

“I want you to. It hurts.” Ryou’s expression becomes more desperate as he coughs up an unhealthy amount of blood. His chest has soaked through, but the blood doesn't stop, his breathing uneven and painful to listen to. “You locked me in here to suffer. At least let me die.”

“Ryou, I didn’t.” Bakura’s eyes sting with the force of being dried out after hours of crying. Has it been hours? “I’m sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I never wanted this.”

“Please,” Ryou whimpers.

Bakura can’t look at him a second longer. He runs out of the room like a coward, leaving it all behind him.

When he closes the door, Ryou is in the hallway.

“Just leave me alone,” Bakura begs uselessly. “I can’t watch you die again. Do you know how many times, how many ways..? I cant, I can’t do this.”

Ryou reaches out gently, wiping his wet, sooty face. “I won’t die,” he says with certainty.

“Yes you will. It keeps happening over and over… maybe you’re right, maybe I do have a fucked up mind that’s trapping you here, but I can’t…”

“Florence.” Ryou takes his hand. “Let’s go home.”

“Where? It's all gone, everything is burned…”

“Just trust me. I’m here to help you.” His smile is gentle, and it breaks Bakura’s heart to see it when he knows that smile will just get torn away by knives or fire or claws or gods know what, and he just wants all of this to be over.

“I don’t deserve your help. You’re just going to get hurt again. Please go.”

Ryou’s grip is firm in his, unyielding. “We need to find Marik, and then we’re all going to leave. Together. Can you help me?”

“I don’t want to see him. Not after… Ryou, I’ve watched so many people die, but I…”

Ryou sighs, trying not to let his smile slip into something too sad, but it’s too late for him to catch it. “Do you remember when he was in my head, what his soul room looked like? Focus on that. He has to be around here somewhere. I can’t remember what the door looked like.”

Bakura nods, clinging to Ryou’s grip. This is the first time in what feels like forever that he has had some sort of plan other than blindly falling through the darkness. Maybe his memories are trying to help him. Maybe, even if it isn’t real, Ryou is still trying to help Bakura.

He takes a step forward into the hallway, feeling the pull of the shadows at all angles, and he can see them again, in the fuzzy edges of the hallways, and he isn’t quite so lost anymore.

“This way.”

 

*******

 

Marik can feel it the moment they are there, before he even opens his eyes. There is something tugging at him, gentle but insistent, pulling him forward into the darkness.

He blinks, goosebumps rippling across his bare arms, brushing at them to keep the shadows away. Ryou is next to him, but he is walking away, and Marik’s heart clamors in his chest as he considers what would happen if he lost him here. Marik races forward and reaches out, but his movements are sluggish and slow, like a half-forgotten nightmare.

Ryou turns in time to see his hand, reflexively taking it, eyes widening as he is pulled forward violently. They collide, elbows landing in soft places that hurt, but they are holding on, something solid in the emptiness, and everything is going to be okay.

Ryou clutches him too tight, his dreamlike daze forgotten, replaced by realization and overwhelming fear.

“You can’t be afraid,” Marik tells him, holding him closer. “This isn’t real, okay? Remember that. It’s like a dream. Your body is asleep while your soul wanders here.”

“This isn’t real,” Ryou repeats like a mantra, calming himself. “This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t-” he falls quiet when he hears something distorted and far away, something that could be a scream.

“It isn’t physical. Think of the shadows like water. To find our way through, all we have are feelings, thoughts, memories. Think of Bakura, and start walking where your heart tells you to go. But be careful. Strong emotions will draw… things. The more solid all of this becomes, the more real it looks, the more trapped we are. We want to be in the darkness, that means we’re safe.”

Ryou doesn’t ask how he knows all of this, and Marik doesn’t either. He can’t think about it, about _him_ , or what he did, or else, gods forbid-

Ryou moves forward; hesitantly at first, then more sure. Marik can’t see his face in the dark, but he follows the pull on his hand, a flash of white hair when the shadows part for just a moment, purple bleeding away and then ebbing back in like a tide. He hears something that sounds familiar, like golden needles tinkling softly against each other, and allows himself to breathe, to think of Bakura. That’s why they are here, why they are doing this.

Marik makes the mistake of trying to think of a nice memory. Maybe if he had picked something more familiar, more angry, more Bakura-y, it wouldn’t have happened. But it feels wrong to focus on the negative, so he thinks of Battle City, and the first time he felt something he couldn’t explain. He thinks of Bakura standing in front of the other him, defending his brother, his family. He thinks of the soul room and the terror that lurked within, and how he had wondered if that was where the other him lived before he took over…

And then the tugging on Marik grows more insistent, shadows gathering around his ankles and trailing slowly up his legs, pulling at his other hand, away, away from Ryou and the Ring.

Marik pulls back, but that only makes it stronger, and his body feels like it is tearing in half. He tries not to think of that day, but it is out of control now. He feels like he did then, all those years ago, powerless and scared and desperate, and if only he had Bakura to rescue him now.

His fingers slip from Ryou’s slowly, painfully, each moment convincing Marik that maybe he can escape, maybe Ryou will turn around, or maybe he had never really been there at all. But he walks onward, following his own memory, leaving Marik to the darkness. It welcomes him hungrily, plunging him deep, deep inside. He closes his eyes again, trying to get a hold of himself, but the fear has taken hold, and the shadows feel like hot desert wind and the cold draft of a tomb, and Marik knows when he opens them he will be _there_ , and he won’t be able to escape this time.

“You missed me.” It isn’t a question.

Marik shuts his eyes even tighter, shaking his head wildly, lashing out blindly at the dark, the alternating hot and cold jarring against his skin.

“You haven’t changed at all, have you? I could feel you calling out.”

Marik finally opens his eyes, breath catching as the shadows fall away, just enough for him to see his mirror image, distorted and wild and furious. “I came here to find Bakura,” he hisses, trying to ground himself, to ignore how the shadows swirl away to reveal stone walls he remembers so well, how real this is starting to feel.

Marik isn’t sure if he imagines the moment of vulnerability in the wake of his other self’s rage. “No. You want me back. I can feel it. It was so much easier when you were me.”

He is right, and Marik doesn’t know what to do. This version of himself, this person who didn’t care who he hurt because he liked the way it felt, who could kill without guilt and conquer without mercy- Marik craves that feeling again, the way he does the power of the Rod. When the Pharaoh sealed this part of him away, Marik felt empty inside, missing something, something he wanted back.

“It was,” he admits, chest heavy.

The shadows lap at his other self’s ankles, almost tame. The walls fade a little, blurring on the edges. “They hurt you, and they deserve to feel that pain. You’re too weak to give it to them, but I will.”

“No,” Marik pleads, the helplessness drowning him. “Part of me wants that, and part of me doesn’t.” Quite literally, in fact. “But it doesn’t matter what I want. What matters is what I decide to do. And I’m not going to hurt anyone anymore. I have to let it go. I have to let you go. It has to be my choice this time.”

Marik feels himself sinking deeper and deeper, the anger he still harbors inside hitting him like a wave, and he wants it, he does, but he breathes out and lets it ebb away, leaving a nothingness that hurts his chest. The shadows roll off of him, drifting away, leaving a path through the dark that Marik can barely see. He tries to get up, but the heaviness of his own heart weighs him down, and he wonders how heavy it would be on a scale. He wants to let go. He needs to let go, but he is in the tomb again, and what if he never gets out this time?

He hears a knocking sound, startling him out of his own misery. He turns, and next to him is a door, like it has always been there. Marik reaches out and pushes it aside, using all his energy to move those few steps.

He knows who will be there on the other side, just like Battle City, just like his poorly chosen memory. He crashes into them wordlessly. Talking feels like too much of a burden right now, and it makes things harder, so he says nothing. He still can’t see very well, but he feels the sharp edges of Ryou’s Ring digging into his side, the sharper edges of something distinctly Bakura in his hands, and he takes them both and channels the magic thrumming along the clouds of shadow, gathering enough to send them back where they came.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was writing the shadow realm, I wanted it to be a hellish nightmare obviously, if you couldn't tell from all the fire. But to me, what always made it scary was the fact that it's all in your own head, and you don't know the difference between whats real and what isn't. So I left some ambiguity in this one. 
> 
> On that note, I should probably address Yami Marik. He's always tricky to deal with, because you generally have two options: consider him his own separate person from Marik, or treat him as a part of Marik. This is complicated by the fact that technically he has his own soul, but also he was supposedly created by Marik's mind and trauma, but also maybe the Rod and shadow magic was involved... so it kind of depends on what the author wants to do with him. As much as I really enjoy reading stories with Yami Marik discovering himself and becoming his own person, that wasn't what I wanted to focus on in this story, which is why he isn't tagged. I wanted to write about Marik dealing with his darker thoughts and emotions rather than suppressing them, so Yami Marik is not his own entity.
> 
> As always, special thanks to offbeatBeauty for the beta and support, even when I disappoint her by not including deathshipping. She's writing a [prideshipping](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14815121/chapters/34281620) fic that follows the same premise/timeline as this one, although you don't have to read it to understand this one or vice versa. Instead of the shadow realm there's the afterlife. Must be nice. If you'd like to discuss conspiracy theories about Yami Marik, or just look at some cool fanart, you can find me on tumblr at [ryokenkonami](https://ryokenkonami.tumblr.com/) or feel free to leave a comment. I don't bite, I just leave long replies. I'm pretty excited for the next chapter, it's my favorite one I've written so far. See you then!


	6. In Which Marik and Bakura Sleep Together

 

They both trembled on the ground, magic racing through their bodies and slamming against containment, breaking free from their hold on it. Marik was on his hands and knees, trying to push himself up but finding his arms wobbly and unsteady. Ryou didn’t even get that far, curled around himself and holding the Ring protectively to his chest. Neither of them acknowledged each other, too shaken from their ordeal to do anything but feel real air in their lungs and the subsiding pain of the world of memories and nightmares.

It was dark. Marik could feel it before he really saw it, in the sweat baked and frozen to his skin, in the sudden chill he felt in his heart. How long had they been unconscious, in the middle of the desert? How much time had passed? Hours? Days? Well, it couldn’t be days or they would definitely be dead, but this was still not an ideal scenario.

Marik recovered more quickly than Ryou, his body aching from the effort of summoning so much magic to one place, raking in what little was left in the world and concentrating it inside of himself and another. He was exhausted, as if he had run a marathon, but there was too much to do.

He started by sitting up and drinking some water, poking one of his fingers with his nail to see how dehydrated he was. Marik got down to the last quarter of the bottle when he remembered he should probably share it with Ryou.

As Marik slowly dragged himself up, he had enough time to ponder whether Bakura was in the Ring or in Ryou. Had they really pulled him out? Marik didn’t think he could take another failure.  Not like this. He staggered over to offer whoever was unfortunate enough to be experiencing this a hand and the rest of his water.

When the hand was swatted away, Marik had a pretty good idea who it was.

Bakura took in his surroundings slowly as he stood up on his own, clearly disoriented. Marik couldn’t think of anything to say in the moment, so he watched in disbelief. That crazy bastard actually pulled it off. They both did.

Bakura crossed his arms protectively over his chest, eyes wide with confusion and fear, before falling on Marik and growing cold. “Well this one is new.” His voice was rough from the dryness of his throat, and he gave Marik a resigned look, as if he expected him to disappear at any moment.

“Are you okay?” Marik asked eventually. Bakura looked anything but okay. Not that any of this could ever be okay, but they could pretend. They were good at pretending.

“Spectacular,” he retorted, glaring at Marik expectantly. He was unsteady on his feet, as if he was still getting used to his body, as if it were a pair of shoes that didn’t quite fit. “Well, what will it be this time?”

He was acting weirder than usual, and it worried Marik. He didn’t have a plan. He didn’t think they would get this far. “Bakura, you know this is real, right? We’re not in the shadows anymore. I saved you.” Marik took a few steps closer, reaching out to him for reassurance.

Bakura laughed cynically. “Oh, is that what we’re doing? What makes you think that’ll work more than once?” There was something frail about him now, something barely held together. It was a shocking change from the Bakura he remembered.

Marik had only been in the shadows for a day, and that was bad enough. He couldn’t imagine what Bakura must have seen, what it must have taken to wear him down so far. It was a miracle he was still in one piece, that he hadn’t shattered completely. “I’m not messing with you. This is real.”

Bakura’s smirk did not fade, but his eyes filled with tears, stopping Marik in his tracks. “Sure it is,” he said, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. “Just like all the other times. Just like…” he took a shuddering breath, his throat closing.

Marik didn’t know what else to do, so he quickly closed the distance between them, grabbing Bakura by the arm and shaking him slightly. “Bakura, listen-”

Bakura instantly recoiled, shoving him away on reflex. The touch seemed to have triggered something in him, and he stared in abject horror at Marik before punching him in the face.

Marik was right about one thing, at least.

“Fuck! Bakura, what the hell is wrong with you?” Since when did Ryou get such a mean right hook? Marik remembered dressing Bakura’s wounds after a fight gone wrong, and he had barely held his own back then.

“This is… I’m really…” He stared at his hands, touching his face to feel the wetness of it, then rounding on Marik with outrage in his eyes.

“What did you do?” He seethed, stomping forward to Marik and grabbing him by the collar.

“You were in hell! I thought this would be marginally better!”

“Why?” Bakura demanded. “Why would you do this to me?”

Marik spat blood in Bakura’s face, which gave him enough wiggle room to push out of his hands. Bakura stumbled, caught off-guard by the maneuver, and Marik put a healthy distance between them before wiping his split lip. “Shit. I told Ryou this would happen.”

“Ryou did this?” Bakura’s eyes flashed with something too complicated to dissect in mere seconds. “Where is he?”

Marik gestured to Bakura’s body in lieu of explanation. He looked down at himself, at the Ring, uncomprehending. His fingers brushed it lightly, realizing it was not dangling on a string, but embedded into his chest. After absorbing this information, Bakura silently pulled the Ring out of himself, blood dripping into the sand, the needles dangling as if they had never been separated. He held it in front of him numbly.

“Is it like it was before?” Marik asked, bouncing back from what was, in retrospect, not that hard of a punch.

“I didn’t… I don’t…” Bakura sputtered, for once at a loss for words.

“Is Ryou there?” Marik clarified. Maybe he had only succeeded in exchanging one prisoner for another.

Bakura looked helpless, something he normally took great pains to hide. “What did you do to me?” He wondered, clutching his bloody chest as if he couldn’t quite believe it was real.

“We got you out of the shadows. It’s a long story, I’m sure Ryou will explain it. He’s there, right?”

Bakura stiffened, as if hearing something, then nodded. Ryou’s voice. He must be somewhere in there, then. Marik sighed in relief. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he had lost Ryou.

“I don’t want this,” Bakura said eventually, though it was unclear who he was speaking to.

Marik bristled. After everything they fucking went through to get here? After experiencing a fate worse than death? How could Bakura not want this? “Why?”

“I’m a failure. I don’t deserve a second chance. I lost, and my fate was the shadows.” Bakura’s voice did not waver. He truly believed that.

“You didn’t fail,” Marik argued, gesturing to the desert around them which held something more. “You completed your mission. The souls of your village have passed on to the afterlife. They’re free, Bakura.”

“I accomplished nothing. The Pharaoh defeated me like he always does, even when I put everything on the line, even when I had a demon on my side.” Bakura’s fierce look dimmed to heartbreak. “Dammit,” he muttered softly to himself, staring at the ground. “Dammit.”

Marik should have known that time would pass differently for Bakura. He would still feel his loss as a fresh wound, not a dull ache like the rest of them. This would be hard, and Marik didn’t have the patience to break it to him gently. “But wasn’t that the point of all of it? Isn't this what you wanted?”

“No! I wanted vengeance!” Bakura growled, something wild and feral still inside of him. “I wanted the Pharaoh to experience the suffering of my people. I wanted to lock him in an eternity of torment.”

“Why?” Marik asked, a hint of accusation in it. “Just to make yourself feel better?”

“Because he deserves it!” Bakura retorted, angry at the question. “I don't care what the gods think, he deserves to have his soul consumed for what he did! If they would not give him justice then Zorc would.”

“Bakura… I get it,” Marik said with a sigh, brushing back his bangs. “I really do. I blamed the Pharaoh for everything that happened to me and my family, and I too wanted to take everything from him and make him pay. But revenge wouldn't have changed anything. Maybe killing him would have made me feel better, instead of empty and broken inside. But I doubt it. And now that he's gone, I have to find some other way to make all of this okay. I don't know if I can, but I'm trying. You need to try to let go, Bakura.”

It was asking a lot. It would take time, and Bakura’s stubbornness would make it harder. But he didn’t have a choice. There was no one left to fight.

Bakura shook his head. “You don't understand. My quest began the day this village burned, when I was still a child. I have been planning this for thousands of years. This was my only purpose. A goal I would stop at nothing to complete. No matter how many times I failed. I can't give up. Not yet.”

Before Marik had a chance to reply, he heard something coming from the Ring, or maybe Bakura’s own mind. Either way the words carried to both of them.

“It's all you have left of them,” Ryou cut in sadly, softly. “Now that they've moved on, you think  you're all alone. Its okay. We’re here.”

Marik felt goosebumps prickle along his skin despite the desert heat, and he looked around, not able to see but still sensing something ancient and magic and wrong about this place. Was this the last source of shadow magic left in the world? Was that why he could hear Ryou’s voice? Would Kul Elna ever really be at peace?

“No. You don't get to do that. You can't possibly understand. This was my family. Everyone I ever knew, whispering to me for millennia.” Bakura looked at the empty landscape, face falling. “I don't hear them anymore.”

Marik closed his eyes and listened, waiting for a hint of voices on the wind, the tug of magic, but all was still and quiet.

“That’s how I felt when I lost you,” Ryou said, and it unsettled Marik despite the calming words. “Everyone expected me to be happy you were gone, but I was just… lonely. I wasn’t sure if wanting you back made me crazy.”

“Then why did you bring me?” Bakura asked, some of the anger burning out of his eyes. “If I have no purpose here, then why not let me rest with them?”

“You spent so many lifetimes trying to help them, you never got to live for yourself,” Ryou said. “You deserved that chance. Your family wouldn’t want you lost in the shadows. I know I don’t, and I- we’re you’re family.”

Marik felt compelled to say something too, shaking off the shivers in his spine. “You got so caught up in seeking revenge you forgot the true purpose of all of this. It wasn't about you, it was about them. I know how it feels to have a hatred burning inside you that just… doesn’t go away. It hardens into something heavy and immovable, and it doesn't let you go.” Marik felt weird admitting all of this in front of Ryou, but it needed to be said, for Bakura’s sake. “After I dueled the Pharaoh, I didn’t feel at peace. My rage manifested was gone, but I was left with something else. Something I’m trying to come to terms with. He’s still a part of me, because I still have those feelings, but it isn’t out of control, and somehow that’s harder because for him all my pain could be solved with violence, and it all seemed so simple I almost envied it, if that makes sense?”

Bakura stared at him.

“It doesn’t, because he _was_ me, but… this isn’t about me either. It’s about you, you pain in the ass. I understand you, and I don’t care how tragically misunderstood you’re supposed to be. I’m not going anywhere and neither are you. So you can either accept it or stab me.”

“Fine,” Bakura agreed, like a military surrender. “Just…” he gave the ruins one last look, his eyes faraway, almost like Ryou’s but not quite. “Take me home.”

Wherever that was.

* * *

Bakura was quiet the entire trip home. It was not unusual for him to be a presence lurking at Marik’s back, but there was always just that- a _presence_ to him, a kind of dangerous energy that he produced simply by being. When he wrapped his arms around Marik to keep from falling off his bike, his breath the only sound he made, it felt… wrong.

No, maybe not wrong. Maybe just different? Maybe just… weird, because this whole thing was weird, and they had been a part of something that couldn’t really be explained?

Marik made no attempt to break the silence. After Bakura’s outburst, it was clear he needed time to mull over what had happened. Ever since leaving the desert, Ryou had gone quiet, the Ring gripped so tightly in Bakura’s clutched hands that his knuckles were white.

For awhile the only sound that echoed through the night was the thrum of the vehicle in his hands, a thrill that had long since lost its excitement and become another routine. Once they got back on the main roads it was the usual chaos, and Marik could swear he felt Bakura’s grip tighten, but while a few wry comments came to mind he kept them contained.

The fact that Bakura was even _here_ was hard to accept. Every time Marik’s mind drifted, he was dragged back by the fingers digging into his ribs, and he had to remind himself that this was Bakura, after all this time, and now… now what?

After fumbling with the keys to his place and thanking his luck half a dozen times that he didn’t live with his siblings, Marik led Bakura inside. The lights were still on from earlier, bathing the plain but familiar room in the yellowy glow of whatever light bulbs were the cheap ones. He gestured to his couch, remembering another time when Bakura had crashed at his place while bleeding everywhere. They had to stop doing this.

“I’ll get some bandages,” Marik said, more to himself than his guest. He always had too many around. Maybe he subconsciously expected this to happen. On his way to the bathroom Marik tidied up a few things nobody else would ever care about, straightening pictures on his wall and picking up the only shirt that was on the ground instead of hung up neatly.

Bakura still didn’t make any noise. Marik would never get used to how quiet he was, just by nature, by instinct. Not even the Ring gave him away, like a cat that had learned to hunt with a bell on. Marik never thought he would miss Ryou’s misplaced apologies, but at least it was less awkward than… whatever this was.

Marik cleaned up his own face when he caught his bloody reflection in the medicine cabinet. He had hoped that by doing all of this, Bakura would be happy, like Ryou promised. The two of them were hanging on by a thread, connected only by this idea of rescuing Bakura, and Marik had wanted to be the hero for once.

He shouldn’t have expected anything different.

Marik brought his supplies back to the living room, expecting to find Bakura bleeding on his couch. Instead he was poking through Marik’s things, his movements so careful as to be undetectable after the fact.

Marik rolled his eyes when Bakura fixated on adjusting his picture frames back to the way they were. “There’s nothing worth stealing here, believe me.”

Bakura shrugged without turning around. “I didn’t know you were so sentimental.”

Marik made an effort not to slip into an easy argument. “Let me help you,” he said instead.

Bakura gave his armful of supplies a cursory glance. “Fine,” he agreed, plopping down on the kitchen table.

This didn’t feel right either. The two of them being so… agreeable. Marik ignored it as best he could. “Take your shirt off,” he suggested, handing Bakura some pain meds he fully expected him to ignore. Bakura set the bottle down, laying his balled-up shirt by it and resting the Ring in the homemade nest of fabric.

Bakura allowed Marik to bandage him, and Marik was relieved by the fact that he’d done this before without stitches. It probably hurt more this way, but the two of them were more than used to pain.

“Ryou doesn’t wear that thing anymore.” Bakura paused, tilting his head slightly, like he did when he couldn’t quite remember a modern word. “The tanktop thing.”

Marik spared a glance at the Ring. “Can he hear us?”

Bakura shook his head, touching his sternum to avoid Marik’s hands, dragging them to the only scars on his chest not caused by the Ring. “How long has it been?”

“Three years, I think? I wasn’t keeping track,” Marik said casually. Too casually.

Bakura breathed deeply for a few moments, waiting for Marik to finish before responding. “That’s not what I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know.”

Marik collected the supplies and returned them to the bathroom, avoiding looking in the mirror this time. He braced himself against the cool linoleum of the sink, his body suddenly heavy. This was so much harder than he thought it would be, and he couldn’t even figure out why. This was good, right? Bakura was here, he wasn’t in hell, and they were getting along. Everything was going according to plan.

So why..?

“You look different,” Bakura noted, his voice echoing through the house.

Marik closed the cabinet, brushing his hair back from his eyes before peeking out the door into the hallway. “How so?”

Bakura sighed, staring at him. A spark of something flickered in his eyes for only a moment, but it was enough to make Marik feel like this wasn’t completely pointless, like maybe things could go back to normal again- although nothing about them had ever been normal, really.

“Your earrings,” he said eventually.

Marik reflexively felt his ear, realizing that Bakura was right, and he had in fact left them somewhere he could never get them back. “It’s a new look i’m trying out. Do you like it?” He responded, and it was a little easier, a little more familiar.

“I always thought all the gold made you look like a conceited, pompous asshole.”

“I was,” Marik agreed.

“I know, I liked that about you.” Bakura hopped off the table, pulling the shirt back on gently over the bandages, taking the Ring with him. “My good friend Namu, always patching me up…”

Marik couldn’t help but snort at hearing the name again. “I guess so. The couch is yours. Different one than last time, but hey, international moving costs are a bitch.”

Bakura smiled for a second, curling himself up on the couch. “It’s been… a very long day.”

Marik nodded in silent agreement. “I guess… I’ll see you tomorrow… and we can talk about what’s going on? All three of us?”

Bakura nodded stiffly, turning to face away from Marik. “Fine.”

None of this felt fine.

 

*******

 

Bakura stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, visions of blood and fire roaring in his mind, rewinding and playing over and over. He hadn’t really escaped the shadow realm. It was still there in his head. Everything he had seen. Everything he had felt. Bakura knew no matter how much time passed, he would always remember the flames licking his skin as if it were moments ago.

Marik looked different now. He was older, which was definitely part of it. His lanky teenage body had filled out into something sturdier, the planes of his cheeks were well-defined, his makeup looked a bit better applied after all that practice… but there was something else, something that kept Bakura up that night.

He crept to Marik’s room and nudged open the door, checking on him yet again. Even after the 5th time he saw the rise and fall of Marik’s chest, he couldn’t quite convince himself that everything was okay.

“Why don’t you come in here instead of being creepy?”

Bakura cursed under his breath. “I thought I was being quiet,” he said, more as a complaint than an apology.

“You were, I just don’t sleep very well.” Marik sighed and scooted over on the bed, leaving plenty of room for Bakura beside him. Bakura climbed in without second guessing himself, though he did wonder why Marik would have a bed large enough for two people when he lived alone. He set the Ring down on the nightstand and arranged himself a safe distance from Marik to stare up at the ceiling, surprised to find small plastic stars stuck to it.

“It’s what normal kids have on their bedroom ceiling,” Marik explained, somewhat embarrassed. Bakura imagined the faint red undertones that tinted Marik’s ears when he finally got under Marik’s skin. “I wanted to see what it would be like.”

“Ryou had those when was 10.” He gave Marik a judgemental, leveled look.

Marik elbowed him, but was gentle enough not to undo all his hard work from earlier. “Well when I was 10 I was busy being ritualistically mutilated,” he shot back playfully. “I can have whatever I want.”

Bakura remembered. He had seen it- or his mind’s version of it, anyway. He didn’t know how many times he had felt the knife, tasted the blood, breathed in smoke that filled his lungs until they would burst-

Marik stared, the faint light of the fake stars giving his eyes a reflective shine. “What’s wrong?”

Bakura shook his head, making sure his face was a neutral expression. This body was not his, and it did not respond to him the same way it used to. It knew he didn’t belong here. “Nothing.”

“So you were just creeping on me for no reason?” Marik countered, more curious than accusatory.

Bakura turned on his side, away from Marik. “Maybe.”

Marik sighed again, rolling over so they were back to back. “Fine, don’t tell me. I’m going to sleep.”

“I thought you couldn’t sleep either. What’s wrong with _you_?”

His only response was a grumble.

The stillness of the room was almost peaceful, interrupted by their not-quite-in-sync breathing and the tic of a clock somewhere in the dark, the noise of the city outside that never seemed to die no matter what time it was, that never quite faded into the background as headlights made strange shadows through Marik’s window.

Bakura rolled over again, wanting to say something but unsure how to start. It hadn’t been that long, from his perspective. He had existed for thousands of years, and time had never been an issue for him, because it never mattered what time it was as long as he could find the Pharaoh. Nothing else had ever mattered. Nobody else had ever mattered.

It had only been a few years, but Marik was different. They were different.

And yet, when he turned, Bakura could make out darker shapes along Marik’s back, their purpose fulfilled, leaving them as obsolete relics of a past no one would remember, and Bakura had to say _something._

“I watched you die,” Bakura confessed. “In the shadow realm. It was all I could see. At first it was mistakes I made, and then mistakes I could have made, and then just… blood, and fire. I don’t know how many times I watched you die.”

Marik flopped onto his back, arms limp above his head. “How did I die?”

Bakura scowled. “Why would you ask that?”

“I don’t know. Just curious.” He glanced at Bakura, then back to the ceiling.

Bakura closed his eyes, frustration obvious in the tension of his jaw. “I hate this.”

Marik turned on his side, blond hair falling around his shoulders, the edges of his body defined by moonlight or maybe just the artificial street lamps outside. Bakura was struck by how beautiful he was, how beautiful he had always been. “Hate what?”

“It's never quiet anymore. There's always cars, or airplanes, or sirens, or drunks.” Bakura covered his ears for a moment, more to make a point than anything. “It’s so loud I can’t think.” Was that why he couldn’t sleep?

“I like the noise, actually.” Marik pushed his wild hair behind his ears, thumbing the empty piercing there. “The tombs were so quiet you could hear your own heartbeat, and if you made a sound it echoed into the darkness.” His voice was hardly above a whisper, almost reverent. “Have you ever heard of a deprivation chamber? Like solitary confinement, in prison?”

Bakura finally met his eyes, the intensity in them stirring his chest. “Can’t say that I have.”

“They put you in there to break down your will. Sometimes people lose their minds. I bet it's like that.” Despite the horrible things he was implying, Marik said it simply, an afterthought.

“They just executed criminals like me. Seems simpler,” Bakura replied. Small mercy that was.

“It's almost like the shadow realm.” Marik paused for a moment, tilting his head. “No, it's worse. The shadows are malleable, and if your will is strong enough you do not break. You never did.”

“No,” Bakura agreed, though he felt goosebumps along his spine when he saw the blood on Marik’s back, how close he came. He wanted to reach out and reassure himself that Marik wasn’t actually bleeding, but he kept his hands at his sides.

“But being in a box, in the dark, all by yourself…” Marik continued, “It drives you mad eventually. It's just a matter of how long. Being truly alone is what breaks you.”

“I suppose sirens aren’t so bad, then,” Bakura said lightly, a wry grin on his lips that slipped away. He looked up at the fake sky above him, frowning. “The stars are different. I don’t know how, it just… feels wrong.” It felt stupid to say out loud.

“Look at the pyramids some time. The stars align just like before. There’s less of them now, though. They’re still there, but you can't see them because of all the city lights. If you drive out to the middle of the desert, it's like looking at a whole other sky.”

Bakura hummed. “Have you ever done that?”

“No,” Marik replied, rolling his eyes. “Why would I drive out into the middle of the desert?”

“To see something ancient and unchanging,” Bakura explained, his chest tight. “To remember what it used to be like.”

“Do you miss it?” Marik asked, gaze flickering to him for a moment, then away again. They kept doing this- these furtive glances, never making eye contact for too long, afraid of what they would find.

Bakura sighed. “No. I don't. But I still wish it were quieter.”

Marik opened his mouth, but closed it before he could say anything. They were both having trouble finding words. They settled back down into bed, staring up at the ceiling or tilting their heads away- anything to avoid looking at each other.

“Technically you did drive out into the middle of the desert,” Bakura pointed out.

“That’s different.”

“But you did it.”

“But that was for you.” This time Marik didn’t even try a risky glance in his direction, though Bakura watched him for awhile, waiting for it.

“Which is different because..?”

“I don’t know, it just is.” He abruptly changed the subject. “You aren’t going to go to sleep, are you.”

Bakura shrugged. “Probably not.”

“At least if I keep talking you’ll know I’m not dead.”

Of course Marik knew what was wrong. Marik could always see right through him, and Bakura never knew how to feel about someone that he couldn’t lie to.

Bakura reached out into the dark, the sheets sliding as his hand drifted across them. He felt for Marik’s hand, fingers hesitantly brushing together before travelling upwards, resting on Marik’s wrist. He could feel the pulse there- a little higher than usual, but Bakura had gotten very good at slowing his heartbeat, and most other people could not control it like that.

“We’re not dead,” Bakura said, feeling his own heart in his chest- but it wasn’t his, it was never his, it was just another thing the Thief King had stolen without remorse. “We’re not dead.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My boy is back! Considering I wrote this fic out of love for Bakura, it took me a while to bring him back. The bed sharing scene is one of my favorite moments in the story. I've been trying to think of a good explanation of why, but maybe I don't need a super long explanation for myself for once. 
> 
> I don't have much to say, so I'll just head right into the shoutouts. Special thanks to my dear friend offbeatBeauty for the beta read, and for playing duel links with me even though I kick her ass every time we duel. She is writing a [prideshipping](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14815121/chapters/34281620) fic that follows the same timeline as this one, so if you like the concept but need more Kaiba in your life you know where to go. If you would also like to duel me, or just talk, you can find me at [ryokenkonami](https://ryokenkonami.tumblr.com/) on tumblr or leave a comment. Also, shoutout to Rinfantasy in the comments for accurately predicting that Bakura would 100% punch Marik in the face. I guess Bakura is kind of predictable, lol. 
> 
> Also, sorry if the chapter title faked you out. I blame offbeatBeauty for not stopping me.


	7. In Which Marik and Bakura go to Domino

The sting of the desert winds against Bakura’s eyes made it hard to see. He held up one hand to shield them from the beginnings of a sandstorm, searching desperately, barely able to make out a blond head. “Marik?”

“I’m here.” Marik came closer, his silhouette intimately familiar, but still blurry and indistinct.

Bakura walked closer, his feet sinking into the loose sand and making each step harder than the last. When he finally reached Marik, he was sure he couldn’t move another step.

“We need to get out of here. This storm will only get worse-” Bakura was interrupted by a fresh gust of wind, tugging at his clothes and hair, threatening to knock him over. He reached out to grab Marik, accepting the fact that it was no use trying to see where they were going anymore.

“So you do care,” Marik said wryly, pulling his hand away. The gold around his wrists stung with heat. “Could have fooled me.”

“What do you mean?” Bakura yanked more harshly against his arm, refusing to let him go, to lose him to the storm. “Marik, we’re going to die out here, let’s go.”

“Do you love me?” He asked softly.

Bakura pulled, but Marik would not budge. “Why are you asking me _now_?”

“I’ve been asking you for a long time.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Bakura struggled to extract his feet out of the sand, but he could feel himself slowly sinking deeper, and the more he struggled the more stuck he became.

“I love you,” Marik said, though his voice sounded farther away than before.

“No you don’t,” Bakura responded automatically, stopping his struggle. “If you’re saying that, it means this isn’t real. This isn’t real…” He looked down at the sand, at it’s slow progress past his knees, and it felt like the shadows dragging him back in. Maybe he had never left.

“How do you know? You never asked.”

Bakura was growing impatient, now that he had realized. “I’ve told you this before,” he spat back, willing the ground to bury him faster. “I can’t feel love. I’m broken. And you can’t be loved, because you’re broken too.”

Marik did not answer at first, and Bakura wondered how the shadows would punish him this time, how this nightmare would morph into the next- and then Marik was pulling him closer, until Bakura could feel Marik’s heartbeat against his, a sharp pain piercing his chest. Bakura opened his mouth, blood spilling out of it, coating the front of his shirt.

Marik ignored the wound completely, covering Bakura’s mouth with his own. Bakura gurgled around the pressure filling up his lungs, pushing Marik away, gasping for breath around bubbles of blood and drool. Why was there always so much blood? Why was it that even a kiss had to hurt?

When Marik finally released his captive, he licked his lips clean, something wild and terrifying and familiar in his eyes, his hair blasted back by the wind. He pulled the Rod out from behind his back, laughing at Bakura’s misery.

He was up to his waist in sand now, and Bakura might have been afraid, had it not been for the fact that he was willing to die if it meant this would end soon. He stared up at the not-Marik looming imposingly over him.

“I know,” Marik said, and slammed the end of the Rod down Bakura’s throat.

 

* * *

  

Bakura jerked upwards, hyperventilating so hard he started to retch, stomach seizing with pain and anxiety that coated his mouth in acid and copper, spilling down the front of his shirt. He was too dazed to remember where he was at first- it was dark, and there was something soft clutched in his fists, and a weight on his legs?

He gazed around, eyes adjusting to the dark, realization trickling in. It was a dream. It was just a dream. And this time, it would not be followed up with something worse.

He forced himself to calm down, to slow his heartbeat and gain control of his breathing.

Marik was still asleep. He had splayed out sometime in the night, one leg draped haphazardly across Bakura, face completely buried in his pillow, arms tucked underneath it. Bakura had either kicked off the blankets or Marik had stolen them, but they were all wrapped around him like a cocoon. Evidently the bed wasn’t big enough for 2 people after all.

Bakura breathed a sigh of relief at the situation. It could be worse. It could always be worse.

He glanced over at the nightstand, but there was no clock to display the time. It was still dark outside, although the first hints of dawn crept into the room. He’d gotten at least a little sleep, then.

The Ring remained in its spot next to the bed, it’s eye seeming to watch him. Bakura grabbed it, careful to keep from making noise, and adjusted himself so he could sit up without disturbing Marik.

Bakura held the Ring close, waiting for some sign that there was still life in it. “Ryou?” He whispered. “Can you hear me?”

The gold glinted, harsh and uncaring and immutable.

Bakura sighed. “This is your fault, not mine,” he muttered. “Why do you always…”

He knew that Ryou was still there, somewhere, but not being able to feel him was like missing an arm. Bakura had never existed in this body without that piece, and the emptiness was suffocating. After leaving the desert the Ring had gone completely silent, and Bakura’s lack of control solidified into an anger at this particular object for refusing to act like it always had. Everyone seemed to have changed after 3 years, even the Ring, and it was infuriating.

Bakura thought about holding the Ring close to his chest, but his shirt was uncomfortably wet there, and he realized that in the wake of the nightmare he had thrown up. Of all the terrors that haunted him in the shadows, this was unfamiliar- disgustingly, uncomfortably human. He hated it. He hated all of it. Ryou had only brought him back to punish him.

Bakura had to calm himself down twice that night. That wasn’t what Ryou would want. Bakura still didn’t understand, but he knew in his stolen heart it was deeper than that.

Bakura had never had the chance to say goodbye. Not that he cared, but it was the sort of thing Ryou cared about. Bakura wasn’t sure what he was even supposed to say- he was so sure he would win the final game, so sure that all of this would be over soon- why would it matter?

But he failed, and it did matter.

Maybe it was as simple as this hollow feeling deep inside, that thing that was missing. Maybe it was more complicated than he could ever understand.

Bakura extracted himself from the bed, moving Marik’s leg just enough to free himself and silently padding through the house. He wasn’t interested in sleeping if it meant going through that bullshit again, and he hadn’t snooped through all of Marik’s possessions just yet. When he stood up the bandages around his chest stretched uncomfortably, and Bakura scratched at them, wandering towards the bathroom.

He fumbled out of his clothes, forgetting for a moment how to take a shirt off. Did you pull it up from the bottom, or grab the back of the neck? And what was up with crossing your arms sometimes, how was that..?

Once he had figured that out, Bakura decided he could use a shower. Ryou’s skin felt itchy with layers of dried sweat and sand, and his hair was a complete mess, and he should probably keep the wound clean and get some fresh bandages, and maybe he should toss his shirt into the wash, and gods all of this was such a hassle and he hated how monotonous and terrible life could be.

Bakura kicked all of Ryou’s clothes into a pile on the floor, pointedly ignoring the reflection that seemed to taunt him. He climbed into the shower, confident on how to operate that particular machinery, and eased himself into a sitting position on the ground. It was one of those square shaped ones with no tub or room to stretch out, and Bakura was aware this was the wrong way to do things, but he didn’t have the energy to care.

He liked sitting and looking through the various bottles while he waited for the water to heat up. As usual, Bakura couldn’t read what any of them said, or what they were for, but there was no way in hell he was going to ask for help. He picked up a few and sniffed them, deciding on a green bottle that had a pleasant earthy smell and tingled when he brushed his fingertip across the top.

For a long time Bakura just sat there, the steam and hot water soothing the ache in a body that seemed determined to punish him. His chest hurt a little less, and he washed out the awful taste in his mouth, and when his hair was finally clean it almost felt like that dream in the desert had never really happened at all.

When he finally got up and out of the shower, Bakura accidentally reopened his fresh scabs, necessitating a quick and messy patch up job. It was vaguely interesting to watch his blood mix with the water droplets still clinging to him, mingling into a drippy orange that washed away as quickly as it appeared.

Alright, that was done. Now… clothes. Bakura wandered through the house, looking for a suitcase or something of Ryou’s, but gave up and settled for rifling through Marik’s drawers. His clothes were less eccentric than they used to be, Bakura noted, but Marik’s shoulders were broader than Ryou’s, so everything was a bit too big.

Bakura picked a plain tank top- Marik had no end to that supply, it seemed- and some cargo pants with a pocket big enough to tuck the Ring halfway into.

Marik moved around a bit in his sleep, but still hadn’t woken up despite all the commotion. Bakura took the opportunity to return to the photos in the main room, each bathed in a soft pink from the light outside. Bakura grimaced when he remembered how hard the sun was on Ryou, and was dismayed to find there were no curtains on the windows. He settled for a hard stare at the beautiful sunrise and a “fuck off, Ra” before returning to his task.

There was an image of Ishizu and Odion, of course, with Marik tucked between them like a typical family portrait. Bakura didn’t like it. It was so staged, so fake. When had they ever been a normal family? Why try to convince themselves otherwise? He scoffed.

Another hung just next to that, of Yugi and all his stupid friends on a boat somewhere. Bakura wasn’t sure when it was taken, but either his host had been the one to take the photo, or he hadn’t been present for it. Marik was leaning against the railing, staring down at the water. Bakura squinted and looked closer, but he couldn’t make out his expression under all the hair. What was the point of keeping this? It wasn’t like they were friends.

He passed by the others with disinterest, still troubled by them somehow. Ryou only had pictures of dead people in his apartment, which Bakura could understand. He had held onto the remnants of his family just as tightly, and would give anything to remember their faces again. But this? This was pointless.

The troubled sensation sank deep into the pit of his stomach, and Bakura realized that he was hungry even though he was still nauseous. It suddenly hit him how familiar all of this was, this sick feeling from ignoring eating and sleeping in favor of whatever plan was currently more important. He had survived it in Egypt, and survived it with Ryou, but he was tired of surviving.

Just when Bakura was resigning himself to looking through Marik’s kitchen for something edible, he heard a triumphant, mechanical tone from the other room. An alarm? Bakura was sure there were no clocks here.

After a few moments Marik wandered into the room, startled to find Bakura standing there for a second. “Already stealing things?” He mumbled through a haze, taking in Bakura’s appearance. “Figures.”

Bakura took in his appearance as well, wondering when exactly Marik had lost his shirt. His hair was completely disheveled, his eyes slightly puffy with tiredness and smudged dark, and something about seeing him so uncomposed was almost _wrong_. They weren’t supposed to be this familiar, this… intimate.

“I didn’t think it was possible to downgrade from a purple crop-top, but it seems you’ve managed,” Bakura responded, keeping his gaze fixed pointedly on the pictures he didn’t like.

Marik made a noise somewhere between a groan and a snort. He continued on his path to the bathroom, all but ignoring Bakura, which suited him just fine.

He stared at the pictures for a moment longer before heading back to the bedroom and looking for the source of the sound- a rather inconspicuous device on the ground. Bakura picked it up, the memory returning to him. Right. Phones. Phones were a thing. He poked at the glass surface to shut the alarm off, sighing to himself. Trying to decode the various pictures on the screen and what program they opened was like learning hieroglyphics.

Bakura pressed them at random until he found some clue into Ryou’s life up until this point: a color coded schedule. Bakura tried to scroll through it, but ended up plastering some ridiculously adorable stickers of Kuriboh everywhere instead. He growled and mashed harder, knowing that wouldn’t help. Through the sea of Kuribohs he could make out a fairly busy schedule, with one week completely blank.

He had planned this trip in advance, it seemed. And if the next week was anything to go by, it would be noticeable if Ryou did not return to work. Which gave Bakura and Marik a few days to sort out this mess.

He closed the calendar app and a few other tabs that were open- a recipe for katsudon, KaibaCorp’s newsfeed, and a lets play of a horror game that left Bakura rather unimpressed- before switching to Ryou’s contacts, annoyed to find that none of them were actually labeled by name. He could guess who “King of Games” was, but the rest were a mystery. Almost on reflex, he changed the G to an L before closing all the open apps.

Bakura patted his pockets for Ryou’s wallet before remembering his pants were still in the bathroom. He slid the phone opposite the Ring and barged in without bothering to knock, partly out of habit and partly because he didn’t care.

Marik was just stepping out of the shower when Bakura opened the door. For a moment Bakura swore he was watching an Egyptian God emerging from the Nile; toned body dripping with perfection, wet hair drawing the eye towards his neck and collarbone, soft skin unmarked and demanding to be worshipped, flushed lips parted ever so slightly in surprise…

Marik yelped in shock and with one swift shove knocked Bakura out of the bathroom and tumbling to the ground, slamming the door in his face.

Bakura closed his eyes, willing his heartbeat to slow yet again, finding it a little easier to control this body’s reactions than he remembered. He rubbed his side where he had hit the hardwood floor, which was sure to bruise with the Ring digging in.

Wet Marik Ishtar was not something his mind had ever conjured up in all that time in the shadows, and Bakura was a little upset the idea had not occurred to him earlier. It would have eventually devolved into something terrible, of course, but Bakura would love to drink in the sight, to feel that supple flesh against his tongue, to pretend for one moment that someone like Marik would want him even if it meant endless pain afterward.

Clearly that was not the case. If Marik had wanted Ryou’s body, he could have had it already, without Bakura’s interference. Maybe he already did.

Although… it didn’t seem like Ryou lived here. He only had one week cleared in his schedule, and none of his things were in Marik’s house… but there was the huge bed, and how else did they end up together, exactly?

Bakura was still on the ground when Marik opened the door, fully clothed this time. He stared down at Bakura, tossing his clothes next to him. “Don’t leave your stuff lying around,” he said briskly, crossing his arms.

Bakura sat up, groaning when his body disliked the idea. “It’s not mine,” he replied, but there was less bite in it than he would have liked.

Marik rolled his eyes. “I didn’t push you that hard, get up.” He offered a hand, which Bakura ignored in favor of struggling to his own feet. “You shouldn’t have startled me.”

“Why is Ryou here?” Bakura asked harshly, transferring his things to the correct pockets. As much as he liked making fun of Marik’s clothes, it was nice having so much space to carry stuff. Ryou’s skinny jeans could barely fit a hand inside the pockets, much less all of this.

“For you,” Marik replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, heading into the kitchen.

Bakura followed closely behind, dissatisfied with the answer. “Ryou flew to Egypt for me,” he clarified. “And he came to you because…” Bakura tried to think of a reason other than what he had witnessed moments ago. “You’re… friends?” Ryou was just as delusional as the rest of the friendship squad, but Marik wasn’t like that. At least, he wasn’t before...

Bakura felt a strange sensation that wasn’t pain, exactly, but was unpleasant, something that wanted Marik to say no.

“We haven’t… kept in touch,” Marik explained lamely.

Good.

“Then how did he find you?” He watched Marik open the cupboards, disappointed to find that it was all vegetarian crap. Whatever. Bakura could go without eating for days if necessary, and if anything modern technology had improved his thieving technique.

“I don’t know.” Marik’s brow creased under the curtain of bangs that obscured it. “I didn’t tell him where I live. He just showed up and begged me to commit robbery.”

“You stole this?” Bakura patted the Ring at his thigh.

Marik nodded, grinning slightly. “You make it sound like its hard.”

Bakura smiled, pleased by the answer. Maybe Marik hadn’t changed that much after all. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to impersonating him once again, but it would be easier if I could access his memories.”

“Can you not hear him?” Marik gestured to the Ring.

Bakura thought about lying, but was silent too long as he mulled over the pros and cons.

“I was worried this would happen,” Marik admitted, brushing back his wet hair. “After the final duel, the Millennium Items were returned from whence they came, their powers lost. Obviously, the magic that created them can never be undone completely. As long as there is darkness in human hearts, the shadows will persist. But after… what happened, the darkness is weaker than it has ever been. The Items are practically powerless.”

“Does that mean we’re trapped?” Bakura prompted, angry now. “Did that idiot get himself stuck in an obsolete relic and me stuck in his shitty life? I didn’t ask him to do this, and I swear-”

“No,” Marik interrupted, giving Bakura a pointed look. “Ryou came here with a plan. He wanted to bring you back to Domino, and put you into his computer program thing.”

“I may be thousands of years old, but I know how to use a computer. That’s completely ridiculous.”

Marik shrugged. “He says you used the Ring to put souls inside other objects. Why not digital ones? There was enough magic left for me to get you, so I think we can get Ryou out. But we should do it quickly. I don’t know what will happen to his soul if the Ring breaks again.”

“He deserves whatever happens to him,” Bakura muttered. “The shadows contain infinite power, but it always comes at a price. You and I know that. Clearly he did not know what he was fucking with.”

“I did,” Marik argued. “I agreed to this, and I’m responsible for seeing it through. You and I are booking a flight for Domino right now.”

Bakura resented being ordered around so offhandedly. “So what, you’re just going to lock me inside Ryou’s computer and leave me there? I don’t get a say in any of this?”

“It’s better than the shadow realm, so quit your bitching. You can fight with Ryou about it when we get him out of there. I know you don’t want him to die. We’re going.”

Bakura didn’t want to fight about it either. When he woke up in Ryou’s body, he had been terrified of what it meant. At least now he had a goal, whether he liked it or not. And if Marik was right about the darkness ebbing in this world, he’d need to find a new way to achieve immortality if he wanted another shot at the Pharaoh. Perhaps this was a good start. “Fine.”

Marik looked relieved at his response. “Alright, I’ll call in a favor at the airport so you don’t get searched. Get ready to leave in a few hours. And give me Ryou’s wallet.”

Bakura handed it over, tilting his head in a silent question.

“He works for Kaiba, he has more money than I do,” Marik explained, pulling out Ryou’s card and his own phone- a little lower tech than Ryou’s, with buttons instead of a flat screen.

“What happened to all the gold?”

“I try not to draw attention to myself,” Marik said curtly.

Bakura laughed. “It’s not the gold they’re staring at.” He wondered when Marik had stopped wanting all eyes on him, when he had stopped liking the attention- negative or otherwise.

Marik gave him a sour look. “Just figure out where Ryou’s hotel is and get his shit. I don’t have time for this.”

“Oh, back to telling me what to do? It’s like I never left.”

Marik looked like he wanted to push Bakura again. Bakura flashed him an insufferable grin, leaving him to complete his task. He would never get tired of getting a rise out of Marik, and it was always easier than he expected to do so.

Their last two partnerships had ended in failure, but Bakura was willing to try again. It was a bit of a relief having the fate of one soul on his shoulders instead of a hundred, and this time the biggest obstacle was KaibaCorp’s security, which he had bypassed before. As bizarre as the entire situation may be, he had been through worse. It didn’t scare him.

The weight of Ryou’s soul in his pocket didn’t scare him.

 

*******

 

Marik blinked in the harsh brightness of the Domino skyline, shielding his eyes with one hand and fishing for his sunglasses with the other. He forgot how reflective everything was here; from the immense glass skyscrapers downtown to the calm waters of the pier.

Bakura muttered something under his breath as Marik slipped on his aviators.

“What, no fashion tip?” Marik prompted, not entirely sure why he was picking a fight. He just expected it at this point, he supposed.

“I think you’d look better wearing nothing. Actually, I know you do.”

Marik tried not to let the comment get under his skin. Bakura’s intrusion earlier that day had seemed unintentional, and Marik only reacted violently out of surprise. He’d rather forget about the whole thing and move on, but clearly Bakura was not going to make things easy. He never did.

It wasn’t that Marik disliked the comment, per se. There was something kind of comforting about it’s predictability. He just didn’t like letting Bakura think he had won.

“That’s what they all say,” Marik agreed with a breezy shrug.

“The only way you could look cooler is if you were riding a motorcycle and playing a card game,” Bakura declared, throwing on some oversized leopard-print shades he had swiped off the nearest rack.

Marik couldn’t help but laugh, pulling off the tag for him before someone noticed. “I can’t win card games when I’m standing still, I don’t think I have the dexterity for that.”

Bakura raised an eyebrow, which barely peeked above the rim of his ridiculous glasses. “I’m sure you have… other talents.”

Marik was determined not to lose this game. And if their previous conversation was anything to go by, he knew just what buttons to push.

“The last time I spoke to Ryou, he kissed me,” Marik said smugly.

It was an abrupt subject change, but the effect was immediate. Bakura stopped short in the middle of the street, mouth hanging open. “ _What_?”

“This was years ago,” Marik explained as if this sort of thing happened all the time. “After you disappeared… Ryou didn’t take it well. None of his friends could understand why he would be upset you were gone, but I did. It made things awkward, so we never really talked after that.”

Marik was too caught up in his own defeat to process how he felt about Bakura’s loss, and he had mourned in his own way much later. Ryou clearly needed comfort in that moment. And Marik might have taken comfort in Ryou as well, if he hadn’t reminded Marik of what he lost, if he didn’t see Bakura every time he looked at him. It was just… easier to avoid the whole thing.

“He kissed you,” Bakura repeated, his face inscrutable behind those giant glasses. Maybe there was a strategic reason for them other than looking like an idiot.

“He said he couldn’t tell the difference between his feelings and yours.” Marik swallowed thickly, the implications of that sentence settling into him. He hadn’t actually wanted to talk about that part. It was still confusing, and after all this time… Whatever feelings they had, whatever could have happened between them before… surely had been lost to time.

Marik was here to put things right. Once Bakura was at peace, he would go home, and maybe the ache in his chest would go away.

“So I must be in love with you because Ryou kissed you and then decided he didn’t like it?” Bakura tried to look amused, but he was definitely unsettled by this information. Marik just had to dig a little deeper to really get at him.

“Who says he didn’t like it? I think he was the one with feelings for me. Which is weird, considering I almost killed him.”

“Haven’t you almost killed everyone you know?” Bakura said a little too harshly to be teasing.

Marik frowned. “Not everyone,” he protested, trying to keep his tone light. “Just most of them.”

Bakura’s grin had disappeared into something more serious. Marik wasn’t sure what he had done wrong, or if he was still winning their stupid game.

“For the record, he wasn’t very good at it,” Marik added after the fact. “I’m sure you could do better, but you only look and never touch.”

Marik was certain Bakura would jump at that comment, but instead he focused on putting their location into Ryou’s GPS app, typing in “home” and hoping that would lead them in the right direction.

Bakura kept his eyes fixed on the street as they walked in silence. Marik took some small satisfaction in having the last word, but it didn’t feel as good as he thought it would. Bakura always looked so smug and satisfied when he managed to upset Marik, why didn’t it work the other way around? Why did he feel like he never should have brought it up?

When they finally arrived, Marik was surprised they could even get the door open. Supposedly a successful businessman in a high position at KaibaCorp lived here, but it may as well have been a teenage boy’s dream home. Everywhere he looked glass cases stared back at him, containing endless armies of Monster World miniatures, or anime figurines and mechs that looked expensive and complicated to construct. What small amount of space remained was wallpapered in posters, only a few of which Marik could decipher. He could read Hiragana fairly well, even after a few years of rustiness, but Kanji still eluded him.

Marik set his suitcase down to look at everything more closely, feeling like he was at the museum back home. He practically pressed his nose against the glass, eyes roaming over the tiny mages and warriors battling strange creatures across the shelves. He followed the sprawling scenes into the next room.

The bedroom was just as chaotic as the living room, the worst offender being the desk. Marik could feel his blood pressure rising at seeing all the junk tossed haphazardly across it; books with dragons on the covers, old snack containers, brushes and paints, a half-finished diorama of what looked like an inn, post it notes that also scattered up along the wall with pictures of Ryou’s friends. Marik couldn’t resist the urge to at least put all the brushes together in a pile, and stack the books up neatly, and maybe-

Bakura snorted, reminding Marik of his silent presence. “I see Ryou still makes custom Monster World pieces,” he observed, looking at the paint with a glint in his eye. “Best not touch those. They’re fragile.”

Marik recognized that some of the dioramas had been used as little sets for the miniatures to stand on in the other room. He nodded and pulled his hands away, the desk bothering him only slightly less now.

As messy as it was, Ryou at least didn’t leave his clothes all over the floor like Bakura. The bed was unmade, and across it plushies of little monsters stared at Marik with beady eyes. Except for the Doomdog duel monster thing, that one didn't have any eyes, just an underbite of felt teeth. Which was equally creepy.

When Marik’s gaze finally fell on Bakura again, he was picking up some cards lying in a neat pile on the end table, eyes flashing with recognition. “These are mine,” he said softly, holding them close.

Marik had never gotten personally attached to any of his cards, often swapping entire decks. He saw them as a means to an end more than anything, with the gods as his only goal. Bakura on the other hand looked surprised to have found this reminder of his past sitting in Ryou’s home.

“Why does Ryou have your cards?”

Bakura shook his head. “They were his cards first. He collected the ones with the freakiest art, and realized he could make a fiend deck with a wicked strategy- with my help of course. Destiny board took the longest, but I found the last letter for us.” Bakura did not smile, but there was a sad contentment in his eyes that reminded Marik so much of Ryou it made him wonder if he was still in there after all.

“Speaking of which, what's with all the creepy posters everywhere?”

Bakura shrugged. “His favorite horror movies?” he speculated with a scowl. “Why do you care?”

“I would be terrified to get up at night. I swear half those things are haunted.” He gestured to the plushies, avoiding eye contact with them.

“I think it's safe to say i'm the only haunted thing in this house. It looks like Ryou put away all his ouija boards and occult things once he couldn’t contact me anymore. Maybe other spirits aren’t as interesting?”

Marik didn’t remember that detail. He had known Ryou first and foremost as the vessel of Bakura, and only later as an extremely lonely person. But he never would have guessed that Ryou’s house would look like _this_.

Bakura gave him an annoyed look. “How does this surprise you?”

“I didn't live in his head, I barely even know him. And he just comes off as… so...” Marik grasped for the right way to describe him. Innocent? Vulnerable? Normal?

“The man has multiple skulls on a shelf in his entryway.”

Bakura had to be lying just to mess with him. There was no way. Or they were fake. That was illegal, right? Gods, was Marik really going to stay in this house of horrors? “How can Ryou be so cute and have all this stuff?”

“He’s a lot of things,” Bakura said vaguely, crossing his arms. “Move, you’re in the way.” He shoulder checked Marik when there was plenty of space to maneuver around, throwing open the closet with a huff.

“What are you doing?”

“He has a few more days off from work, but if the Ring is fading we need to act quickly. Tomorrow we’re going to KaibaCorp and making a visit to Ryou’s office. I need to look the part.”

Marik shrugged. It wasn’t a bad plan, but it felt like all of this was happening too fast. Before he had a chance to say anything, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Marik looked at the number and frowned. Of course it was Ishizu. Who else would be calling him? Should he ignore it?

Marik slipped out of the bedroom and back into the main one, his eyes naturally drawn towards everything on the shelves again.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. If Marik ignored his sister, she would know something was wrong, and there would be hell to pay for it later. But if he answered, he might be able to get away with this. Maybe she didn’t even know he was gone yet.

He still felt anxiety in the pit of his stomach as he answered the call.

“Hey Ishizu!” Marik said in that oh-so-fake voice of his, that everything-is-not-fine facade only a fellow habitual liar could see through.

“Marik, where are you?” Ishizu demanded, the fear in her voice like a knife. “I can’t believe you would just disappear like that again. At least last time Odion was watching after you- are you alone? Are you coming home?”

Well, so much for her not noticing.

Marik sighed, dropping the act. “I can take care of myself Ishizu. This isn’t like last time, I promise.”

Ishizu recollected herself with more grace than Marik ever could, but he could hear her deep breaths over the phone. “I’m glad to hear that you are safe. Is there anything you need?”

“No, but I… please don’t hang up.” Just hearing her voice made Marik feel a little bit better. He wasn’t sure why.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“Maybe,” Marik admitted, closing his eyes for a moment. He had expected more yelling at this point, tensing for the pain that was sure to follow after breaking the unspoken rules. Somehow, Ishizu holding back was even worse. “I feel like you know what happened but aren’t saying it because you don’t want to fight.”

“I’m used to fighting with you. But right now that isn't what you need to hear.” She paused, a weird kind of rustling or static filling the gap. “No matter what happens, I will always be here for you, Marik. You know that, right?”

There were many promises Ishizu couldn’t make. She couldn’t always keep him safe. She didn’t always know what was right. Her idea of what was in her brother’s best interest differed from Marik’s. But the one thing she could promise with absolute certainty was that she would try her best, and love him regardless of the outcome.

Marik wanted to believe that, but it didn’t make sense. Whenever he fought for freedom, he always lost something in the exchange. His sister was always on the opposite side, and Marik thought for certain he had created an unbridgeable gap.

But maybe, if he explained himself, she would understand this time. Ishizu’s worrying and bossiness usually drove Marik crazy, but it reminded him that she still cared. “There’s a really good reason for all of this, I promise.” He would never have risked everything for less than that. “Maybe I can tell you one day, but right now its… its confusing. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I've been doing these past few years…" He shook his head. "You always seem to know what to do. And I always seem to ignore your advice.”

“Everyone does. Look, Marik… it's taken me time to realize this, and you’re going to laugh at me, but I don’t know everything.”

Marik rolled his eyes, holding back a snort.

“The Millennium Items, powerful as they were… they brought out the worst in all of us. I was so convinced I was right that I refused to see anyone else’s side, even when Kaiba proved my visions were not infallible. It was hard for me to accept the idea that destiny is not a fixed point, because seeing the future made me feel powerful, and without that I had nothing.” Her voice wavered. “I didn’t know if I would lose you, brother.”

“Ishizu… I don’t know what to do to make Battle City up to you. You keep saying you forgive me, but it doesn't feel like it.” It was like every time they talked the past was hanging over them, no matter how long it had been.

“I don’t know either, Marik. Its Odion who you really need to make amends with, not me. You’ve barely spoken to one another unless I’m around.”

“I… you’re right. But I’m trying to figure out something else right now. I'm sorry. I promise I’ll bring it back soon, I just…” Marik trailed off, unsure what to say. She had no reason to trust him, and Marik didn’t think he could change that with words.

“Marik, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. I don’t need you to come fix all my mistakes, sister. What I’m doing… maybe it’s stupid, but I think I have to do this anyways, and I can promise you I’m not in danger, so try not to worry.”

“No promises there. I love you, Marik. Call me if you need anything. And please... come home soon.”

“I love you too, Ishizu. I’ll let you know when I'm flying back in.”

Marik hung up, the call feeling like it had lasted forever and not long enough all at once. There was a weight lifted from his shoulders, but his body still felt tight with tension.

Ishizu wasn’t mad, exactly. That was… good. She was just worried, like always. Marik was tired of worrying her, but she could also loosen up a bit. He wasn’t a sixteen year old with a death wish anymore. And as much as she had taken the burden upon herself, she wasn’t Marik’s mother.

It was hard because they were both bad at this. They didn’t know how to have a normal sibling relationship, and Marik’s best attempts made him equally as unhappy as when they were fighting. But he had tried, and he would come back. He fully intended to return the Ring once Ryou was safe and sound, and then maybe they could work on fixing… whatever this was.

After staring for awhile, Marik discovered a figurine he liked; a little horned figure with a mane of white hair. He smiled and found it a companion; a blond elf carrying either the weirdest bow ever or a harp. Marik opened the case and gently stuck the two next to each other, careful not to bump the countless figures around them, sliding a monster head with half a dozen eye stalks to face the two in combat.

Marik could barely detect Bakura entering the room, feeling his presence rather than hearing him. He looked up, smile still on his face.

“Ryou’s clothes are terrible,” Bakura declared, arms crossed. “Guess that hasn’t changed,” he added under his breath.

“At least they fit,” Marik offered. “Just throw something on, it’s getting late anyways and I’m jet lagged. Unless you want to play a card game.”

Bakura scowled. “You can have the bed,” he muttered, making his way to the couch.

Marik reached out to grab his hand, but stopped short just before their fingers touched.

“What?” Bakura demanded.

“We could share,” Marik said awkwardly, pulling his hand away. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was terrified to be alone in this house. Even with the lights on the objects on the shelves made strange shadows, and all the creepy things that lurked in the corners seemed to stand out more now that he was looking for them. After last night, Marik thought that maybe...

“Why?” Bakura prompted. “You think that because I had one bad dream, I’m going to cling to you every night? As if every waking moment hasn’t been a living nightmare for me since that day-” he choked up a bit, then looked surprised at his own surge of emotion. He shook his head slightly. “You may have brought me back, but I don’t need you.”

Bakura planted himself on the couch, his back turned.

Marik stood in the room for a while, not knowing what to say. He hadn’t been thinking about Bakura at all, but apparently everything revolved around him now. Fine. Marik didn’t need him either. It was stupid to be scared of all this lame nerd shit anyway. He stormed off into the bedroom, not caring who had the last word. Maybe it had been his conversation with his sister and some of the residual guilt, but Marik just wanted this to be over so he could go home.

He closed the door and left the light on, removing the creepy stuffed animals and placing them in a pile on the ground next to him, turning on his side so he could try to forget they existed. He focused on the desk, and the actual for-real polaroid camera and pictures scattered across it. Ryou was a polaroid guy? Marik really didn’t know him at all.

He curled up in bed, making an effort to tuck himself in to protect from any dangerous thoughts. Marik wasn’t sure why this place was so unsettling. It wasn’t like he was anxious about tomorrow. He’d done worse things to Seto Kaiba, and hadn’t exactly had to face the music for it. But there was something deeply troubling in this moment, something that made him wonder if all his hangups about fate and destiny made it harder for him to trust omens when he saw them.

Marik curled up tighter, longing for some kind of background noise like Bakura’s breathing or even a noisy fan. He was worried about leaving the window open, so he turned on Ryou’s monster of a computer, the fans working double time to keep it running. Ryou’s screensaver was some sort of weird green letters that trickled across the screen, bathing the desk in an eerie glow. He turned off the monitor, ignoring the shiver up his spine.

It was the best he could do, all things considered. Marik closed his eyes, hoping that for once things could be easy.

Nothing in his life was ever easy. He knew it was useless before he even laid down. He couldn’t sleep, that nagging something prodding at the back of his mind.

It felt like something was going to go wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This morning I felt eerily similar to Bakura and had to call into work sick, so I figured I should at least work on this in the meantime. My schedule has been a little crazy, but I'm trying my best. Thanks for being patient.
> 
> Part of me wishes I lived in Ryou's house, because I would love all the D&D figurines, but I would probably get scared in the middle of the night getting a glass of water like Marik. I do really wish I had a Doomdog plushie though, I use them all the time in Duel Links and I've gotten really attached to them. 
> 
> Anyways, here's the usual reminder that I owe a lot to my wonderful friend OffbeatBeauty for her help. In return I wrote the fan letters in her latest chapter of the [prideshipping](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14815121/chapters/34281620) fic that follows the same timeline as this one. You don't have to read both of them to understand what's going on, but if you haven't had your daily dose of Kaiba then this is an excellent source. 
> 
> If you'd like to yell at me for not updating enough, you can find me at [ryokenkonami](https://ryokenkonami.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. I mostly just reblog fanart but I'm always willing to talk. You can also leave a comment. Unless you're OffbeatBeauty calling me out for not being good at Duel Monsters, then you aren't allowed :p


	8. In Which Bakura Has Feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bakura has a nightmare as usual, but this one is a bit longer and rougher than last chapter's.

Bakura walked down the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the darkness. It seemed to stretch endlessly into the distance, and yet he knew exactly how far it was until he would arrive.

“Ryou,” Bakura called, his voice sing-songy. “Where are you, Ryou?” The sound carried throughout the hall, bouncing off walls that weren’t really there, an eerie presence that seemed to fill the emptiness. As his voice faded, it was replaced with the scrape of his knife against stone.

It was a threat that held no substance. One couldn’t be hurt inside the soul rooms, and it was all quite literally inside Ryou’s head. But despite the brave face he put on, Bakura could still feel the shiver up Ryou’s spine when he knew Bakura was looking for him.

Bakura reached Ryou’s door soon enough. He placed the knife in his mouth, smiling around it as he pushed. The door creaked open of its own accord, no attempt at trying to lock the intruder out.

The room was dark.

Bakura paused.

Something wasn’t right.

He entered, closing the door behind him silently. The darkness did not scare him. It was a part of Bakura, as much as he was a part of it. What worried him was his host. The only darkness in Ryou’s heart was Bakura himself, and Ryou was the light. His room wasn’t supposed to look like this.

He picked up speed until he was running across the room, darkness in every direction. Something was wrong. Bakura could feel it in the air, hear it in the way his own ragged breathing echoed back to him in ways that weren’t quite right, not for their shared mind. He ran until he felt he couldn’t take another step, that feeling drawing him in deeper until he was lost to it.

And then there was a laugh, and Bakura halted abruptly, the knife clattering to the ground when his jaw dropped.

Marik was on his hands and knees, almost as if bowing in apology- but no, Marik bowed to no one, and he was not like Ryou and his apologies. Even though there was no source of light Bakura could see him clearly; the blond tussle of hair, the gold that seemed to gleam against his dark skin, the markings on his back that may as well have been chains for all they stood for. Bakura stared at Marik, stricken as his back shook in either silent laughter or sobs.

“Marik?”

There was no reply, but Marik’s movements stopped. The dark lines on his spine seemed to stand out more than usual, a presence of their own, a malevolence that took Bakura’s breath away. It was as if they had been freshly carved into him, and they began to leak, blackness dripping down Marik’s taut muscles as his hands clenched into fists.

Bakura had to help him, to do something, but he couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe, it was like he was trapped and all he could do was watch as the blackness slowly pooled around Marik’s struggling, prone form.

The laughter sounded again, and this time Bakura recognized it. He lifted his head, searching wildly, white hair strewn in all directions, but could not find the source. “Zorc,” he hissed. “What is the meaning of this?”

“How kind of you to show up. I hope we’re not interrupting?” Bakura could hear the smile in their voice.

“If you had need of me, you could have called. I have never failed to answer you before.”

“But this way is so much more entertaining.” Bakura grabbed his knife on the ground, ignoring the amusement that echoed in the room. “Be careful with that, child. You might hurt someone.”

“I’m not a child,” Bakura spat back, holding back his own hatred. Dealing with Zorc was a price he was willing to pay for revenge, but the creature had never been so bold as this, always remaining sealed away until the time was right.

But wasn’t the Ring empty? Wasn’t Zorc dead? Then wait, how did they…

“Is that so? You certainly behave like one. I thought we had a deal.” For just a second, Bakura swore he could see eyes in the dark, which flashed and disappeared just as quickly as they arrived. “But it seems you’ve gotten distracted, so I have no choice but to fill the time with something to distract myself. And what better choice than the boy who has been so very _distracting_ for you?” As if by an invisible force, Marik’s head was tugged up by his hair, shadows stretching across his weeping back. It now had a reflective sheen across it, as if the dark liquid that leaked from Marik’s wounds was oil.

“Bakura..?” The sound tore Bakura’s attention to Marik’s miserable face. His eyes looked glazed and far away, his neck exposed at a vulnerable angle. “Bakura… I love…”

The laugh sounded again, this time booming all around them, to the point where Bakura had to cover his ears to drown out the sound. “Doesn’t he know? You belong to me, Spirit. I live inside of you, and I know you cannot love. You were broken before you ever came crawling to me. And as entertaining as it is to hurt him, this toy was already broken before I touched it. He can’t love you. How pathetic.”

Bakura held the knife out, challenging the dark. “What do you want? Come out and face me!”

Bakura turned around, startled by something like breath on his neck. When he turned back, Marik had been pulled up into a kneeling position, his chest bare and unmarked by violence. His head was held in place not by shadows, but fingers fisted in his hair, and the figure that held him leaned down so that both their faces were level.

It was Zorc. Bakura knew it was Zorc. But it looked like Ryou. Even with the inhuman grin twisting his face, the bloodlust in his eyes, even with the dark presence wearing his skin in a way that didn’t quite fit, it looked like him.

“Look at you, playing the hero. Is that what you wanted? Tell me, what kind of hero makes deals with creatures like me? You knew that taking this path would lead to darkness, that you would make an enemy of everyone to get what you wanted. I thought that was worth it? Would you throw it all away for this?” They shook Marik for emphasis. Marik whimpered, pushing feebly against Zorc in a vain attempt at escape.

Bakura didn’t want to talk. He might have been reasonable, but this was a step to far. He launched himself towards Zorc, knife outstretched, ignoring the darkness that attempted to interfere.

“What did I say about hurting someone?” Zorc taunted, Ryou’s face lending them an innocent look. They held a knife exactly like Bakura’s, leveling it at Marik’s exposed throat. “You shouldn’t care about one more casualty in your war, but you do. It eats you up inside that you care, and I find this little flaw of yours… entertaining.” Zorc smiled, a row of pointed teeth gleaming between Ryou’s lips. “Stab me if you like, but my blade just… might… slip.”

Bakura hesitated. That was all Zorc needed. They stood up, discarding Marik with a halfhearted shove to the ground. “You’re almost not worth my time. I prefer my servants to have a stronger backbone. But I suppose it can’t be helped with humans. You are still human, aren’t you? You tried very hard not to be. But it was to serve your own interests, to make it easier to do what you had to. And you failed. Like always.” Zorc shot him a disgusted look.

“Is that why i’m here? So you can torture me?” Bakura demanded.

“Oh, no. It’s much more fun to let you torture yourself. Like stabbing me, for example. Would you do it when I look like this?” Zorc gestured to their stolen form. “You care about him too, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, don’t be naive. Don’t you think that if you could take control of this body, I could too? The world out there is so dangerous, Spirit. There’s so many accidents that could befall poor little Ryou… and then it would just be you and me in the Ring again, like old times.”

Bakura’s hands were shaking even as he gripped the knife more tightly. “You wouldn’t.”

Zorc dragged the copycat knife across Ryou’s chest almost lazily, striped shirt drowning in blood.

Bakura didn’t understand. If he failed, why was Zorc here? Why were they doing this? Why was Bakura so fucking terrified? This might not even be real, Marik might not be…

“No, you don’t really care about him, do you. You’ve hurt him worse than this.” Zorc dropped the knife, closing in on Marik once again. “I know what you’re really afraid of. You aren’t like me, Spirit. You may fool everyone else, but I feel the fear inside of you. I know how weak you truly are.”

Bakura couldn’t think. All his usual quips and clever plans had leaked out of his mind along with Marik and Ryou’s blood.

Marik struggled to stand on his own, one knee still planted on the ground. There was blood in his hair, tainting the gold red, and when he moved he gasped in pain.

Ryou- no it was Zorc, it was _Zorc_ \- kneeled down next to Marik again, tracing his jawline with two fingers. “It’s okay,” they said soothingly, only a hint of sharp teeth in their smile. “I won’t hurt you like he did.” They leaned in, kissing Marik softly on the lips.

Bakura made a strangled sound, his feet carrying him forward even as his mind struggled to keep up. He had to do something. Bakura was patient, and clever, and he could wait for things to fall into place, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from what he did next.

Before he understood what was happening, the hilt of the knife was against Ryou’s chest. Bakura felt a piercing pain, and when he looked down he was bleeding from the same place, just above the heart.

Zorc laughed at him again. “You make this so easy.”

 

* * *

 

When Bakura woke up, he tasted copper in his mouth, his jaw aching from grinding his teeth all night. Another nightmare. He should have figured it out sooner. Bakura peeked at his phone to check the time. 3:05. And sleep wasn’t coming any time soon.

He closed his eyes, the image of Ryou and Marik lying dead on the ground as clear as if it had really happened. He laid there for a long time trying to scrub it from his memory.

Zorc was dead. It was the only good thing to come of all of Bakura's failures. While their power would have been useful, Bakura realized now that he had been a little too ambitious in his goals of destruction. Who could have predicted that summoning a demon would be a bad idea? 

But history was written by the victors. The Good Guys won, because winners were always the heroes of their own stories. And Bakura was left the villain, with all the bitterness that entailed, and a lingering fear that haunted his unconscious mind.

Bakura’s determination to forget his dream was interrupted by a shriek and a slam from the hallway. He bolted upright, alarmed, catching a glimpse of a hysterical Marik vaulting over the couch and landing half on top of him.

“What happened?” Bakura demanded, pulling Marik close and searching the hallway for something chasing after him. If there was one thing Bakura was prepared for, it was this moment. Nothing was going to happen to Marik. Not this time. Bakura was ready to fight back his nightmares.

Marik held on to Bakura, almost to reassure himself that he was there. “It was huge,” he exclaimed, his breath shaky.

Bakura was reflexively compelled to push Marik away, but reconsidered. Marik was no stranger to violence, and should be capable of protecting his damn self. He had held an incredible force of anger inside him once, comparable only to Bakura. But there had been other things lurking within, a fear that Marik could not face and buried inside until he lost control. What was he so afraid of that he would come running into Bakura's arms?

“Marik, what’s going on?” Bakura asked instead, feeling around for injuries.

Marik was still breathing heavily, but seemed to have calmed from Bakura’s presence. “A snake,” he admitted, almost guilty, ducking his head. “I couldn’t sleep and when I went to get up I… you’re going to laugh at me aren’t you.”

Bakura couldn’t imagine why there would be a snake in Ryou’s apartment, but while he himself had fought off a few in his tomb-robbing days, they were nothing to scoff at. “Did it bite you?” He asked, trying to search Marik for blood, the dream hitting him vividly once again.

“N-no,” Marik stammered, squeezing Bakura’s shoulders again before letting go, lifting one foot to scratch the back of his other leg sheepishly. “I ran away.”

That was a relief. Bakura was not looking forward to the idea of sucking venom out of Marik at 3 in the morning. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Wait.” Marik reached out to grab him again, then thought better of it, holding his hands in front of himself awkwardly. “I don’t want you to get hurt… Why don’t we just stay out here? I can sleep on the floor.” He glanced at Bakura hopefully.

Bakura rolled his eyes, walking down the hallway without a response. Marik hesitated, following behind reluctantly. Bakura didn’t really care if Marik went with him or not, as long as he didn’t do anything stupid.

Ryou’s door was still open. Bakura stood outside the doorway before flicking on the light, checking the floor.

There was in fact a snake, currently attempting to climb the bedpost. Marik stiffened, looking past Bakura’s shoulder. It was at least 4 feet long, mostly white with little specks of orange and brown that reminded Bakura of a koi fish. He had been picturing something less… domestic. A viper or a cobra maybe? He felt like he had been told there was a panther in the apartment only to find a house cat.

Bakura stepped inside, Marik still following, staying close. The snake paid them no mind. “Well I may not be an expert, but something tells me these aren’t native to the area.” Bakura looked around the room, his mind itchy with lost memories from Ryou. He had wanted a pet snake, right? Or was it a tarantula..?

Oh, right. There was a tank in the corner of the room that Bakura had previously ignored as another Monster World environment. The snake must have been hiding inside, and escaped at some point while Marik was asleep. Now that it was clear there was no danger, it was a little funny how much Marik had overreacted.

Bakura walked over to it and picked it up.

“Don’t touch it!” Marik shrieked, eyes darting between Bakura and the safety the doorway. “I thought you were going to kill it Bakura!”

He held it out to Marik, the feeling of its skin against his reminding him of long forgotten memories of Egypt, of rage and retribution. It was a good thing Diabound was gone. It meant the spirits that created it were in a better place. But Bakura missed this. He wondered if Ryou remembered, if he missed it too, in that disconnected way they shared things. “It’s a pet, Marik. Go on, take it.”

He shook his head. “Who would keep a snake as a pet? They kill people!”

Bakura looked at the snake’s face, little black eyes containing no malice, mostly a blank, cute expression. “I don’t think she could kill someone even if she wanted to.” Bakura smirked. “You were awfully brave in the hallway…”

At the challenge, Marik took a step forward, reaching out one trembling, hesitant hand. After a few unsure glances at Bakura and the snake, Marik pressed his fingers into its flesh, gaze widening in surprise at the softness of it.

“See, it’s not so bad,” Bakura teased, adding “This explains the dead mice in the freezer.”

“I thought those were for you,” Marik replied, still flinching every time the snake moved as it crawled up Bakura’s arm.

Bakura rolled his eyes. “You should be the one to put her back.”

Marik gave her one last pet before declining. “I think that was enough exposure therapy for one day.”

Bakura watched Marik’s expression carefully. “Why are you afraid of it?” he demanded, waving the snake at Marik. She didn’t seem to be agitated by being handled.

Marik looked away, face stiffening into a mask Bakura knew well. “When I was a child, I…” his gaze drifted to the snake again, almost involuntarily. “I almost died,” he explained without feeling. “My brother was supposed to be watching me. He was punished for his failure.” A crack of anger slipped through, something Bakura instantly recognized. “I was my father’s only son, the only heir. I was scared of dying, but I was also scared of the fact that my life meant more than theirs. When I was young, I liked being the favorite. I thought it meant that I was loved. But I don’t know anymore.”

Bakura nodded. It was a story he didn’t remember hearing about before, but from what he knew of Marik’s family, it made sense. In the tomb, family was all Marik had. It was the one thing Bakura did not have when he tried to seize the world and bend its knees, the one thing he could not steal. But when Bakura looked at the pictures Ryou kept of Amane, he could still feel a twinge of something that made him understand, or at least want to.

“He can’t hurt you,” Bakura declared, thinking only of Zorc’s knife pointed at Marik’s throat. “That has nothing to do with this”

Marik shrugged. “We don’t have to talk about it,” he brushed off.

Bakura sighed. “Marik, you can’t always run,” he explained, rapidly losing patience for all of this. “You have to confront the dark parts of yourself that are so easily hidden away. You should know that better than anyone. Is this what you’ve been doing for three years? Without me around, who have you been running to? Who have you been hiding behind?”

Marik stared at him, silent.

“Fine, I’ll show you.” Bakura wrangled the snake until it was around his neck and shoulders, tongue tasting the air around Bakura’s ear. Once he had his hands free he searched Ryou’s belongings. He probably still had sage and all that stuff somewhere... Once he found a lighter Bakura turned to face Marik, ignoring the tickle of the snake as it bumped around the neckline of his shirt.

“What are you doing?” Marik asked, fear creeping into his voice.

In any other situation Bakura would have laughed and made some insulting comment, but this was too important. He turned the lighter on, watching the small jet of flame. “After my village burned I was afraid,” he explained, voice soft. “I was haunted by what I had seen and the voices I heard at night, until I found a way to do something. I knew that I needed to be strong to carry out my task, and I could not afford to be a scared child. I had no one to hide behind.” Bakura held his hand over the flame, just high enough it wouldn’t burn Ryou’s skin. He could still feel the heat of it, the memories hot and thick. The scales crawling along his neck grounded him.

“You’re not scared anymore?”

Bakura shrugged. “It still reminds me, but I don’t let it hold power over me. Is that fear?”

Marik approached him, pulling the lighter away, the flame disappearing and leaving them to the dark as he set it down. “It’s bravery. And bravery can’t exist without fear.” He looked Bakura in the eyes, a deep, dark purple that was almost black with the lack of light. “I made you face Ra. I let you burn.”

Was that sympathy, or regret? Either way, Bakura had no use for it. “We both did. I would say we’re even.”

Marik looked away. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” As often as Bakura gave Marik shit about Battle City, he didn't really care. They had both made mistakes, and in the end Bakura got the result he wanted anyway. It was hard to hold a grudge against Marik when he looked at Bakura like that. 

Marik’ expression darkened, though he did not take his eyes away from Bakura this time. “Are you afraid of me?”

“You couldn’t overpower me with a Millenium Item,” Bakura scoffed. “What makes you think you could threaten me now?”

Marik grabbed Bakura’s wrist, his hand circling it completely as if to remind Bakura that he didn’t have an Item either, and Marik was more than capable of overpowering him. “That’s not what I meant,” Marik said, voice low.

“Worried you’re going to lose control and kill me in my sleep?” Bakura replied nonchalantly. “That sounds like your fear, not mine.”

“I haven’t lost control. Not since that day… but sometimes I still feel like it’s there, waiting…” Marik pulled Bakura closer, until they were almost nose to nose. “Don’t lie to me.”

Bakura stared him down, his pulse picking up. He went to yank his arm back, but Marik held it steady between their chests, trapping him.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

It wasn’t a lie, exactly, but it wasn’t quite true. Bakura was afraid of how often Marik’s misery haunted his sleep. He was afraid of the feeling he got when he looked into Marik’s eyes too long, the feeling welling up in his chest right now. He was afraid of what would happen when Ryou came back and everything changed.

Before Bakura realized what was happening, Marik was leaning in, pressing their lips together. For a second Bakura didn't know how to react except to close his eyes, his mind trying to process the heat and pressure and whatever was happening to his racing heart. He didn’t hesitate for long, tilting his head and sinking deeper into Marik’s mouth, unsure why he did except for reflex, or curiosity, or if this meant something, or-

The snake moved across Bakura’s chest, somewhat squished between the two. Marik flinched and made a sound, his tongue too tangled with Bakura’s to form the words as he leapt away.

Bakura laughed, wiping the spit off his mouth with the back of his hand, something fluttery and unfamiliar taking over him. “What was that for?”

Marik shook his head, staring at the snake, his chest still rising and falling heavily. This was just getting ridiculous.

“So? Am I better than Ryou? I admit I don’t have much practice. Give it time and i’m sure I could learn. You know I hate losing.” Bakura knew Marik was red by now- as much as his skin tone would show- but he wanted to feel the heat of Marik’s skin for proof.

Marik was not amused by the teasing. “I don’t… I’m sorry, that was… I didn’t mean to…” he stammered as Bakura placed the snake safely back in her enclosure, checking the tank for any escape routes. “Just- forget that ever happened.”

That was a promise Bakura couldn’t make, but he was tired, and that fluttery feeling had abruptly vanished, and he had run out of patience. “I’m going back to bed. Don’t bother me again.”

As he walked away, Bakura wondered what would have happened if they had kissed years ago instead, if that would have made things different.

Whatever. He didn’t care. Marik and Bakura had worse regrets in life than this.

When Bakura laid back down, resting one hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat slow, his mind spun his thoughts endlessly like a tumble dryer, getting him nowhere. Why did Marik kiss him and immediately regret it? Why should he care? He had gotten back at Ryou in a petty way, and flustered Marik more than he ever had before, that should be enough for him. But something was bothering him that he couldn’t put his finger on, preventing him from falling asleep.

After hours of dry cycle thoughts- why did he kiss me, why didn’t he like it, why were things different, were they even really different, how was Ryou involved in this- Bakura gave up on trying to sleep. He would have welcomed the inevitable nightmares. At least he wouldn’t have to think about this anymore. At least the pain he felt would be physical, tangible, and not… whatever this was.

 

* * *

  

Bakura stared at the closet, chewing his lip with a frown. He had never particularly cared about his appearance, and impersonating Ryou was easy when his wardrobe consisted of jeans and t-shirts. But now as he looked at his options, they were as unfamiliar to him as the posters on the wall and the heaviness in his chest.

Bakura absently played with the friendship bracelet strapped to his wrist while he debated his next move, the ring hanging against his bare flesh like it had always belonged there. It made him feel more like himself, but Bakura disliked how cold it was against his skin, how limply it hung there, nothing more than gaudy jewelry. It was practically useless, barely worth finding a new necklace to attach to it, which had been a pain in the ass in and of itself.

The dress slacks and accompanying belt were the easy part, his only choice being a neutral grey rather than black or white. Seriously, who wore white pants? People who didn’t have to worry about getting blood on their clothes, obviously. And fucking royalty, who didn’t have the toil of everyday life soiling their perfect appearances. Even Kaiba the CEO -or president, or whatever he was- wore white. He was an example of the ruling forces of the modern world. The new age pharaohs were businessmen, and just like Atem, Kaiba was a child who had inherited his role and used it for his own spoiled, selfish reasons because who were the masses to question those above them? It wasn’t as if their predecessors had used their power any differently.

Bakura shoved the hangers aside, his blood heating up at the thought of being forced to bow to men like them. He needed to play Ryou once more, and that meant being polite, and courteous, and pretending to care about what other people said, and he was not looking forward to it. In the amount of time that had passed, Kaiba had amassed more power and influence than ever- money ran this world, not gods, and he had enough of it to build a monument to his ego even bigger than a pyramid, one that stretched into space. It would take everything Bakura had not to wipe that smug look off his face if they crossed paths.

Bakura tore off a light blue suit jacket and white button up shirt, frowning when he saw the KC logo cuff links. Kaiba’s office was already at the top of the building, lording over his subjects. He probably wouldn’t need to deal with him. It wasn’t worth getting worked up over.

After straightening out his attire and running a brush through his hair, Bakura rifled through the desk drawers until he found a pair of glasses he had discovered earlier. His eyesight didn’t feel like it was any different than before, but if Ryou wore glasses it would be noticeable if Bakura wasn’t wearing them at work. He put them on, jumping back in surprise when several dozen menus popped up, all overlapping each other.

Marik didn’t knock before opening the door to Ryou’s room. “Bakura, we’re going to be late-” he stopped short when he saw Bakura flailing at the blue menus, trying to get them to go away. “-what are you doing?”

Bakura huffed in frustration and took the glasses off, sticking them on Marik while he tried to push Bakura away.

“Oh. This is…” Marik turned his head, a smile creeping onto his face while he looked around the room in wonder. He reached a hand out, retracting it with a start. Bakura knew what he was looking at, but with the menus invisible to him now it was rather silly to see Marik touching things that weren’t there. The glasses framed his face better than they did Bakura’s, and his shy exploration of something new was endearing in a way Bakura couldn’t quite place.

In a moment of weakness, Bakura wished desperately that he could have dreams like this, instead of pain and nightmares. It wasn’t fair, but there was no one to blame except himself, and all the wishing in the world didn’t change the images of Marik killed a hundred different ways in his mind.

“Wow,” Marik breathed, stretching his arms out again. “Hand me a Duel Disk, I want to see if the holograms work with this. Although I suppose duel holograms are external, and this is all digital, right? I have to ask Ryou how it works.”

At the mention of Ryou’s name, Bakura’s mood suddenly soured.

Bakura pulled the glasses off of Marik with a soft “hey!” of protest, sticking them in his front jacket pocket.

“We’re going to be late,” Bakura repeated, crossing his arms and examining Marik’s outfit. It was still strange seeing him without all his armlets and necklaces and earrings and everything, but it was even stranger to see him wearing something other than a tank top. He wore a dress shirt with golden buttons that contrasted against the dark purple color, the short sleeves rolled up to reveal Marik’s biceps. The hem was not yet tucked into his black pants, and when he lifted his arms in just the right way, Bakura could see a hint of what was underneath that only served to tease him. “You don’t look like an employee.”

Marik placed his hands on his hips. “Obviously. It’s not like I have a keycard.”

“No, but you could try to blend in.” There were people at KaibaCorp that would recognize Marik, and Bakura didn’t trust him to come up with a reasonable explanation for his presence.

Marik sighed as if this request was a heavy burden on him. “Do you have anything that would fit me?”

Bakura quickly ran a montage in his head of all of Ryou’s terrible clothes on Marik, and barely contained his disgust. Even if this outfit was noticeable- and Marik always stood out amongst crowds despite himself- at least it made him look good. Bakura shook his head, pulling out a plaid purple and blue disaster and showing it to Marik as an example. “Thankfully, I doubt it,” he said, tossing it onto the floor where it belonged.

Marik’s eyes followed the shirt’s descent, resulting in a frown. “Well then stop complaining. I know what I’m doing.”

While Bakura itched to take him up on the offer of another argument, if they didn’t arrive on time it would look even more suspicious. “Fine. Let’s go.” He made to exit into the hall but Marik blocked him, outstretching one arm across the doorway. The Ring dug into Bakura's chest when he bumped into Marik, The chain it was connected to making his neck itch.

“Hold on. I know you’ve been looking through Ryou’s phone.”

Bakura stared at him, daring some sort of challenge.

“Does he have any reminders set on it?” Marik prompted.

Bakura shrugged.

Marik stared him down. “I looked through his medicine cabinet this morning, and I can’t read the medication bottles. If he takes anything important, there might be a reminder on his phone. Since we couldn’t find his suitcase in Egypt I’m not sure if you’re supposed to be taking something.”

“Why does that matter?” Bakura demanded. “I’m giving his body back today. Soon, if you move.” He stepped forward, pushing against the arm, but it didn’t budge.

“I’m serious Bakura.” Marik said it softly, but with an intensity that did not invite further defiance. “You could die.”

“It isn’t so bad, trust me.” Bakura took his hands and tried to properly push Marik aside, feeling the hard muscle of Marik’s forearm tense against him.

“Check his phone,” Marik ordered.

“You should be pushing me out the door!” Bakura shot back, angry at the show of force. “The sooner we get there, the sooner I get out of this body. Then you can have your boyfriend back and do whatever you want with it.”

Marik was caught off guard enough that Bakura managed to shove his way through the doorway. “I barely know him!” He protested, voice rising in pitch.

“You kissed him.”

“He kissed me!”

Bakura slammed the door to the bathroom. He was tired of the same excuse, how it felt like Marik was trying to save face. He couldn’t even convince himself he had gotten even, because he was playing Ryou again, so really Marik had kissed Ryou _twice_ and ugh this was so _stupid_.

Bakura looked through Ryou’s phone once again and came up short. He searched his memories, but couldn’t remember ever taking any kind of medicine, unless being hooked up to machines in the hospital counted. Bakura didn’t trust any of this. He had been hurt plenty of times back in the day, and never needed pills to survive. And if Ryou had a life threatening condition, how likely was it to develop in the three years that Bakura was gone? This was stupid. He was stupid.

He checked his appearance in the mirror, attempting to soften his expression to that of the doe-eyed innocence of Ryou. It was easier to just look spaced out and oblivious, but acting too ditzy had gotten him caught in the past. Ryou was not stupid, and there weren’t many details that escaped his notice. It was a delicate balance between innocence and willful ignorance, but after playing with his hair for a bit Bakura felt like he had it down.

When Bakura opened the door, Marik was waiting for him with a look on his face that Bakura didn’t trust.

“Are you jealous?”

Bakura scoffed. Were they really still talking about this? “Of what? The fact that you don’t have to wear KC brand clothes? The fact that you get to live out the rest of your life in your own body? The fact that you have a say in your future instead of being forced into someone else’s?”

“Oh give me a break. There is no one on this earth that could make you do something you don’t want to do, Bakura. You know what I meant.”

“I don’t care what you two do,” Bakura said, crossing his arms. “I don’t know why you bothered ‘saving _’_ me when you’re just going to abandon me somewhere else, but like I’ve said before, I don’t need either of you. I’ve been alone this long Marik. I know you like to feel important but contrary to your own self delusions, I don’t exist for _you_.”

Marik’s purple eyes seemed to pierce the veil of Bakura’s disguise, glimpsing right into Bakura’s soul. “Why _do_ you exist?”

Bakura did not answer, instead handing Marik the keys on the counter along with Ryou’s phone. “Why don’t you just shut up and drive us.”

Marik looked down at the keys, eyes narrowing. It was a relief to break his intense gaze. “Where did you get these?”

Bakura shrugged. “Some guy in the lobby.”

“You stole someone’s keys?”

Bakura pointed to the other assorted odds and ends on the counter. “I stole a lot of things.”

Marik tilted his head in a silent question, glancing over the watches, rings, a pair of movie tickets, cough drops...

“Sometimes I don’t even notice when I do it,” Bakura admitted. “I just find things in my pocket I must have taken. I always put phones back, though. People get upset when they lose those.”

Marik looked ready to give Bakura some kind of lecture- one which would be very full of hypocrisy which Bakura would be sure to point out- but he stopped, staring at the keys again. “Is this for a motorcycle?”

“Do you know how to drive anything else?”

“I have many talents,” Marik said defensively. “I bet I could drive any vehicle you steal the keys to.”

Bakura rolled his eyes, a grin creeping onto his face. “Oh, I would love to take you up on that.”

Marik’s grin matched his, a competitive fire stoked between them once again. “You’re on.”

“We really should get going. Clock is ticking. And the owner of that Kawasaki is going to notice it missing eventually.”

Marik actually seemed excited about their mission now, bounding down the apartment stairwell and looking at pictures of different models on Ryou’s phone while Bakura trailed behind him, pausing every now and then to check they weren’t being followed by force of habit. He wished he could share the enthusiasm, but it wasn’t an emotion Bakura was all that familiar with.

The bike was a sporty green thing that could regularly be found on the side of the city KaibaCorp employees rented out. Bakura was surprised it hadn’t been stolen already. Not that it mattered. All of this was irrelevant to him anyways. He just wanted to get to his destination quickly, and the memories he had of Ryou being harassed on public transit were unpleasant enough to warrant avoiding. He’d taken care of a few of those problems for Ryou, which could be satisfying when Bakura was looking for a fight, but this was not the time for it.

Seeing the smile on Marik’s face, the gleam of sunlight against his shades, sitting behind him so that every part of them was touching- that wasn’t the plan at all. That was all just… coincidental.

Bakura hated to admit he didn’t actually _like_ motorcycles. It felt too different to him to be riding something mechanical rather than alive, a disconnect that was unappealing. But the power of the engine, the slight apprehension in his gut at such high speeds, the wind tangling his hair behind him- there was something to be said for experiencing the ride for what it was, the sensation of being alive that only gets brought about when close to death.

Whenever Marik swerved at a sharp angle, or did something else reckless enough Bakura was afraid he would fall off, he buried his face in Marik’s back, closing his eyes and squeezing tightly. Bakura tried not to think about blood seeping out of Marik’s back when he rested his head there.

During the trip, Bakura’s mind wandered, Marik’s question troubling Bakura the longer he thought about it. His family was gone. The Pharaoh was gone. His vengeance was gone. Everyone was gone. It was like when time passed him by, he really had missed something, something he couldn’t get back.

Why was everyone doing all of this for him? What was the point? Without Ryou, without Zorc, Bakura barely even felt like himself. All the hatred that had been fueling him for so long just… wasn’t there. It was an emptiness, like the hallways of the soul room, and he wasn’t sure how to fill it, where to even begin. What was the point of his existence?

Ryou probably had an answer. He thought about things like that a lot, and he wouldn’t have done all this without some sort of plan. But Bakura was tired of finding meaning in Ryou. He was tired of needing to rely on other people because he wasn’t capable of doing things for himself. He was tired of seeing their broken bodies behind his eyelids.

What Bakura needed was a way out. And if he was trapped in Ryou’s network, he would be tied to him forever.

Unless-

Marik screeched to a halt, swerving into a dangerous parallel parking maneuver that left Bakura’s knuckles white, laughter so carefree and genuine it caught Bakura off guard. He wished he could lose himself in the moment too, but there was always too much going on, too much to do. Bakura could only ever experience the feeling secondhand, through Marik’s pretty eyes and the feeling of his racing heart.

Maybe that was enough. Marik tossed his hair back, still smiling as he attempted to rein it back in. “Do we really have to return it?”

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Bakura promised with a wink, earning a smile that was just for him.

And yes, he was still concerned about a thousand other things, and he wasn’t care _free_. But having Marik’s undivided attention, hearing his laugh and knowing it was Bakura who made him feel like that, not Ryou, not anyone else… surely there were worse reasons to exist.

Bakura really was pathetic.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I read fanfics I tend to get stuck in a loop of "I'll just keep reading until they kiss" and before I know it I'm 3/4 of the way through a slowburn fic and its 4am. So if you are reading this some time in the future and you are like me, then please get some sleep. You made it. Sorry it wasn't cuter...
> 
> Of course, if you've been reading this long, you probably figured I'd throw some angst in there. I really like this scene, because there is an undeniable attraction between the two, but they still manage to deny it. I think the mindsets that they're both in at this point make it hard for any actual romance to happen, but you know... that's why it's a slow burn. And I like the idea of their first kiss being awkward and poorly timed and creating more tension than it solves. If it were me I would definitely keep reading and not get any sleep and be like "well it has to be a GOOD kiss" so don't be like me kids.
> 
> As always, special thanks to OffbeatBeauty for helping me with this chapter. I think I rewrote the kiss scene like 4 times and had her read all my revisions, and this is definitely the best version. She put up with a lot for this chapter, like debating what pronouns to use for zorc and listening to me complain about Ryou's DSOD outfit, and I appreciate it so much. I also help her edit her [prideshipping](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14815121/chapters/34281620) fic that follows the same timeline as this one. Next chapter we will get into KaibaCorp, but I never planned on delving too deeply into Kaiba's post canon shenanigans, so I'm glad someone else is! If you want to talk you can find me at [ryokenkonami](https://ryokenkonami.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, otherwise feel free to leave a comment. I'm still trying to decide how I'm dividing the next few chapters because the pov switches a lot and I didn't plan beforehand because I'm a mess, but I'll see you when I figure it out.


	9. In Which KaibaCorp is Infiltrated

Marik had to make an effort not to roll his eyes as they passed the towering Blue Eyes White Dragon decorations outside the KC office building. Last time Marik was here they were statues, but the stone bases had been replaced with metal projectors that allowed life-like holograms to frolic around the KC entrance. He poked one, half expecting to feel the gleaming scales of Blue Eyes’ underbelly. It roared and lowered its head, fixing Marik with an unsettling glare.

Marik glared back. He was trying very diligently to forget about what happened last night. This morning? Either way, Marik was very good at burying things, and he expected this to be no different.

And yet, here they were, awkward distance between them, Bakura apparently determined to make Marik’s life as difficult as possible. He wasn’t sure what to do except try and ignore Bakura, but it wasn’t as if Marik could blame him, exactly. Marik had been the one who started this.

Bakura threw open the doors to the building, allowing Marik inside. He wondered if he needed a visitors pass or something. Ishizu had dealings with Japanese businesses before, but Marik wasn’t exactly practiced in it- unless an international card theft mafia counted as practice- so he figured he would keep a close eye on Bakura for cues on when to bow and what honorifics to use and hopefully they’d get through this with minimal suspicion.

Marik observed Bakura closely as they entered the lobby, his brown eyes sharp while he analyzed the situation. It was interesting, watching the slight shifts of expression on Bakura’s face, those pieces of his real self peeking through the facade of Ryou. He ignored the looks directed at them. Marik was used to standing out, and he could use it to his advantage when it benefited him. What was the best approach..?

“Welcome back Bakura!”

Hearing the name startled Marik out of his musing. Bakura had drifted away from him, trapped in a friendly conversation with another employee. It took Marik a moment to realize that they hadn’t actually been caught. Nobody at the office would call him Ryou. Still, it was weird to hear other people call him Bakura when Marik had always separated the two in his mind.

“It’s good to be back,” Bakura said softly, fake smile plastered on his face, nervously playing with his hair.

The young man he was talking to was shorter than Ryou, with tanned skin and dark hair that looked too messy for an uptight office environment. He held a stack of papers in his arms, which struck Marik as odd in the digital era. Any mail would be sent via email, any documents logged electronically. As he shifted his grip, Marik caught a flash of something gold beneath his KaibaCorp Blue sleeves.

“How was your trip? You don’t look too sunburned. I told you that you were worried for nothing.” The man laughed in a way that was far too charming. “Did you find what you were looking for? I thought you’d be gone longer.”

Bakura ducked his head, eyes flicking up to the man briefly before darting away, color rising to his cheeks. He was too good at that. “I found something.” He looked at Marik, smiled shyly, and gestured him closer.

Marik approached, surprised when Bakura placed his arm around him. “Brought back a souvenir.”

Was this some new game that they were playing? Marik probably deserved it. That kiss had been a stupid impulse, nothing more. It had been three years since he had seen Bakura, and then three days that they had been reunited, and in that time Marik had lost all semblance of normalcy and control in his life. He couldn’t just do whatever he wanted. He wasn’t 16 and bitter with the world- as if that were ever a good excuse for his actions.

But gods, Bakura’s eyes when he looked at the fire, how he always knew just what Marik needed to hear, the way he accepted Marik so completely that the idea of holding a grudge annoyed him- _him_ , Bakura, the spirit of ancient grudges- Marik couldn’t help himself. He had missed Bakura so much, and regretted not taking the opportunity when he had it before, and…

No, he had to stop thinking about it. Regardless of Bakura’s motivations (which tended to be just annoying Marik,) he could work with this angle.

Marik leaned in to Bakura’s touch, looking the stranger up and down. His blue turtleneck seemed an odd choice for the warm weather, but he looked nice, Marik supposed. He turned to Bakura. “Who's your friend?”

Bakura didn’t falter at the request, foiling Marik’s plan. “You remember me telling you about my coworker, Aigami?" Marik nodded for the sake of the ruse. "Aigami, this is my partner Marik Ishtar.”

Aigami’s previous interest in Ryou’s affairs seemed to have faded. He shuffled the papers again, trying to act natural. Both Marik and Bakura could see through it. “Oh. Wow. You’re from Egypt, huh? Me too. How long are you staying here? If you don’t mind me asking. Is that too personal?” his gaze fell to their shoes.

“I’m not sure yet,” Marik answered honestly, picking up on Aigami’s discomfort. He wasn’t interested in a chat about home, and neither was Marik. “So, are you going to show me around? At least tell me which office is Kaiba’s so I can avoid it.”

Bakura laughed. “Actually I’m going to get some coffee. I can barely think right now. You want any?”

Before Marik had a chance to answer, Aigami cut in. “Oh, um, before you go, I kept these for you.” He held out the stack of papers, which Marik now realized were magazines.

“I’ll take those for you and catch up in a bit,” Marik offered pleasantly, clueing Bakura in to his plan. He looked through the magazines, impressed that they were still in print, vaguely curious if there was anything dirty in them. “Is this... an American... fashion magazine?”

“I work with the advertising department,” Aigami explained while Bakura snuck off unnoticed. “Obviously KaibaCorp’s marketing scope is huge, but we’ve needed to update to more modern methods in recent years. We pulled advertising from the less popular magazines, and they keep coming here to beg for a new deal.” He made an apologetic expression. It felt insincere. “Some of them were only subsisting because of us, so I can’t blame them, but it’s starting to get annoying. The team always sends me to take care of it. But hey, I have a lot of these, so if you want some take them.” He pointed to the fashion magazine on top. “Except this one. It’s Bakura’s favorite.”

He seemed nice. Marik almost felt bad for him. “I’ll make sure he gets them,” Marik promised. It was the least he could do. He looked around the room, making sure Bakura was out of sight. “Hey, can I ask you a favor? I don’t remember where Bakura’s office is, and I have a surprise I wanted to set up for him. If I need a keycard then that’s okay, I can try to figure out something else… I was just hoping…”

“Oh, yeah, I can tell you where to go. If you follow this hallway there’s an elevator, take that as high as you can. Once you reach the top floor you’ll have to cross the building to access the employees only elevator, and you’ll either need a keycard or someone from the upper office to buzz you in. I’m sure one of the other game devs would help you. His room is on floor 62, name on the door, can’t miss it.”

“Thank you so much," Marik said with feigned politeness. "Ryou is lucky to have a friend like you.”

Marik headed down the hallway, trusting that Bakura overheard enough of the conversation to follow him once he had coffee. They met up in front of the elevators, Bakura blowing at his mug.

“Do you actually like coffee, or was that cover?” Marik asked.

“Both,” Bakura responded with an experimental sip. He winced at the temperature. “Thought you were clever asking me his name?”

Bakura scanned his card, following Marik into the elevator. The highest it went was 50, so Marik pressed that button, sighing at how long the trip would be to get there. He still didn’t like tight spaces.

“I wanted to see you squirm a little, but I admit, you are a professional at this. Can’t blame me for trying.”

“Ryou has his phone number. What kind of identity thief would I be if I didn’t look at his contacts?” The elevator hitched on it’s ascent, causing Bakura’s coffee to spill over the rim.

“Ryou has his number?” Marik said, a little too scandalized by this reveal.

“He has all his stupid work friends, Yugi is there too. Their conversations are boring as hell.” Bakura frowned. “Why is that noteworthy?”

“Nevermind.” Marik shook his head, knowing that avoiding the topic was the safest option. He’d talk to Ryou about it later. “Lets go.”

They entered the hallway, which was much quieter than the lobby. There were only the muffled voices of those inside their offices, which Bakura weaved between as if he had been here before. Everything was divided by tinted glass walls, the only color in the building being the dark blue carpet to offset it. Despite the crowded nature of the building, the glass made it feel more open, which gave Marik a chance to breathe before shoving himself in another elevator.

They slipped into the employee elevator with Ryou’s card. It was all too easy. Marik didn’t even think about the fact that this building was probably crawling with cameras until Seto Kaiba stopped the doors from closing and stepped between the pair.

They exchanged silent glances behind his back, not needing words to express themselves. It was pretty easy to recognize the _oh shit_ look. The CEO of KaibaCorp was busy enough that there was a good chance he wouldn’t bother with them, but Marik tried to keep his head angled down, hoping Kaiba didn’t recognize him as the person who almost single-handedly ruined his tournament years ago. Surely he had other things to worry about.

The tension in the elevator was suffocating.

Kaiba did not turn to face them, but he didn’t need to do so in order to be intimidating. “You can spare me the details of how you broke into my company. All I’m interested in is why you’re here.”

“Um…” Bakura looked down meekly, his eyes innocent. “I’m not sure what you mean Mr. Kaiba.”

“Spare me the performance. I know it’s not really Bakura I’m speaking to. Not the one I hired, anyway. You may be able to walk in here and fool everyone else, but in case you haven’t noticed I’m not like other people. I’m not going to ask you again.”

Bakura glanced to Marik for help, but he wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t have a contingency plan for this.

“So… you’re saying you think the spirit is back?” Bakura continued with his ruse despite being caught. “That’s… I don’t mean to be disrespectful sir, but that’s absurd. He’s been dead ever since the Millennium Items were put to rest. How could he return?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question. Care to enlighten me?” With a soft chime, the doors opened. “This is our floor. I’m sure my _loyal employee_ wouldn’t mind his boss dropping by his office to discuss business.” He gestured for them to exit the elevator.

Marik ducked around him, giving Bakura a look that said _cut it out._ Kaiba led them straight to Ryou’s office, placing himself at Ryou’s desk and putting his feet up carelessly on it. The desk was a bit more orderly than the one at Ryou’s home, but it still seemed rude.

Marik and Bakura sat down across from him on the other side of the desk. If this was an attempt at intimidation, it wasn’t going to work. They made a good team when they weren’t sabotaging each other, and if there was one thing that brought them together, it was mutual disdain.

Kaiba fixed his gaze on Marik. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you. I can’t prove he doesn’t belong, but I don’t remember hiring you.”

Was that supposed to be a threat? Please, Kaiba was probably the least dangerous enemy they had faced. They might be on his turf, but Marik and Bakura were right at home in enemy territory. This was going to be easy.

Marik set the magazines he was carrying down so he could cross his arms. “Bakura, show him.”

Bakura took out the Ring, laying it on the desk in front of Kaiba.

He glanced at it, but otherwise didn’t move. “This explains why the discussions with Ishizu have been more difficult than usual.”

Marik remembered how gentle Ishizu had been on the phone with him, and how angry she got every time she had to contact KaibaCorp for official museum business. “That’s hilarious,” Marik said, but he did not laugh or even smile.

“Not so laid to rest after all. What a surprise.” Kaiba leaned forward, his ridiculous jacket making a soft whooshing sound. “What exactly do you plan to do with that?”

“Surely you know what your own employees do with company property,” Bakura countered, enjoying this a little too much. “Ryou could only bring me back thanks to you. And if you want him returned safe and sound, you’ll stay out of our way.”

“By all means.”

“The technology you’ve been creating- Ryou intended to use it to extract Bakura from the Ring and place his soul inside a virtual host. The souls have been switched however, and we need to pull Ryou out to put him back here.” Marik gestured to Bakura. “If that makes any sense.” 

Kaiba paused for a moment, lost in thought. “I assume magic is somehow part of this.”

“The Ring has the ability to transfer souls,” Bakura said. “I could show you if you like. I’m sure there are plenty of people that would love an authentic Kaiba doll.”

Kaiba ignored the comment. “The Millennium Items are a super advanced technology we haven’t picked apart yet, and I plan to do just that. Call it magic if you like, but it’s a piece of equipment that grants the ability to alter reality by blurring the line between dimensions. If Ryou discovered a way to interface with it, that’s relevant to my company’s interest.”

Bakura looked offended by the entire concept. “Then how do you explain the fact that the magic is ebbing due to the Pharaoh banishing the darkness?”

Kaiba glared, reminding Marik of the Blue Eyes outside. “Whatever internal power source it has is running out,” he said, as if it were that simple.

Bakura leapt up from his seat. “These artifacts were forged with the blood of my people. You were there, and yet you know nothing.” He knocked the magazines off the desk. Marik approved, if only for dramatic effect.

“Don’t make me call security. I’m not in the mood for the paperwork,” Kaiba said, infuriating Bakura even more.

Marik stood up, holding an arm out to stop Bakura from doing anything violent. “Neither of us want that.” He gave Bakura a pointed look. “So, are you going to help us, or just sit there and watch?”

“Don’t tell me you two idiots broke in here without knowing how to operate a computer. You can’t be that incompetent.”

“I can’t read a Japanese keyboard,” Marik said defensively. “And I’m pretty sure vengeful spirit over here only knows how to make spreadsheets for healing potions.”

“Monster World isn’t just spreadsheets Marik,” Bakura complained, turning on him. No, they needed to stand together, be the perfect team, don’t start with that!

Kaiba sighed as if this was the greatest burden a person could bear. “Fine, but if something goes wrong you will take full responsibility.”

“Fine,” they both agreed simultaneously.

 

*******

 

It was dark everywhere but here. It reminded Ryou of his office building when they turned off all the lights except for Kaiba’s. Like the Ring was shutting down for the day, and was trying to conserve energy.

He wasn’t scared. His intention had been to keep Bakura here, and Ryou would never do that if he thought the Ring was a bad place to be. It wasn’t. It was… quiet, he supposed. The silence filled with something unspoken from long ago, like Marik’s tomb.

The light was centered in an elliptical shape, which reminded Ryou of the eye that watched from the center of the Ring. He had tucked his body against the smooth dip in what felt like stone, looking outwards. He could only see wherever the Ring was pointed, either because that was how it worked, he didn’t have enough power to do otherwise, or he didn’t know how to control it.

From what he could make out, Bakura was climbing into the VR simulation chamber. They must have figured out what to do, or gotten help from someone who did. Ryou was aware he’d have some messes to clean up at work after this, but he wasn’t too concerned. His friends would understand. Eventually.

There was no sound. Sometimes Ryou could pick up the hint of a voice, could feel like he understood what was going on, but it was never quite enough. The only time he had seen someone was when Bakura looked at the Ring, Ryou’s own face staring back at him in a way that was almost unrecognizable. Otherwise he had been confined to pockets and underneath shirts, left to contemplate his plan in the dark.

But he had faith in the people he left behind, and it looked like his solitude was coming to an end. He watched Bakura bang against the pod, yelling something silently behind the glass. Ryou stifled a laugh. After bringing him back, Ryou had been beyond relieved. After years of hoping and praying, there were still doubts in his mind… but Bakura was here, and he was himself, he was okay, and this was really going to work, and Ryou had so much to say-

Someone picked up the Ring, moving it to the proper console. Ryou could feel it tilt, in a weird disconnected way that made him dizzy. He was forced to stare up at the ceiling, unable to make out what was happening.

Ryou felt a shift- magic maybe, or a side effect of the tech, or some kind of barrier they had crossed by mixing the two. He had always been sensitive to the Ring, even if he didn’t know exactly what it was doing. He sat up from the wall alcove, peering out of the window he had been watching the world through, intuitively knowing to reach out his hand.

It passed through the threshold that Ryou had never attempted to cross. The time was right. The pieces were in place.

He shifted his weight onto his knees, pushing himself up into a crouched position, dipping one foot in as if he were stepping into a pool before jumping down.

Bakura had lost many games in his life. He had lost in his rebellion against the kingdom of Egypt. He had lost in his first shadow game against the resurrected Pharaoh. He lost his chance at the Millennium Items in Battle City. And he had lost the Final Game as he liked to call it, his last stand, the ultimate revenge fantasy turned doomsday, a hurt child wanting those responsible for his pain to suffer the way he did regardless of who got caught in the crossfire.

Ryou hadn’t had the chance to play, because Bakura had always taken the pieces from him. Everything had been, for all intents and purposes, entirely out of his hands. But not this time. This time Ryou was in control of the board.

This was the real Final Game. The last chance to set everything right. Ryou was ready.

 

* * *

 

Ryou hadn’t been sure, exactly, how things would go when he and Bakura reunited. The spirit tended to ruin the best laid plans, and so Ryou had only been two steps ahead, ready to take a step back and re-evaluate the situation as needed.

He hadn’t expected to freeze.

Bakura was clearly disoriented, locking eyes with Ryou almost immediately. There was nothing else to look at. The blank canvas of the digital world was hard to perceive. It was a nothingness filled in by the edges of the mind, like a half remembered place in a dream. When Ryou loaded into the system, he needed something to focus on so as not to feel sick. In this case, they focused on each other.

They stared for a moment, but it could have been longer. Sometimes Ryou lost track of time in here.

The carefully rehearsed script Ryou had tried to memorize completely abandoned him. Ryou didn’t know what to say. It had been such a long time, and this had been so important to him, and now that it was finally happening he didn’t know what to do, no matter how many times he fantasized about it in his head.

So, since he didn’t know what to say, Ryou rushed at Bakura, hugging him tightly. The program still had a ways to go in terms of emulating physical sensations, but if he squeezed tight enough Ryou could almost feel like he was holding onto something important, something he wouldn’t lose again. He could close his eyes and imagine it in his head and it was close enough for now.

After all, Ryou had never had the chance to hold Bakura before.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Ryou whispered into his shoulder, pulling tighter still. When Bakura was a part of him, he could feel Ryou’s emotions and sense his intentions, and their relationship was one without words. Maybe that was why Ryou didn’t know what to say. But it had never felt like enough. Bakura needed someone there for him, and it was almost a relief for Ryou to express himself in this way for the first time, through simulated touch. It was a way of feeling affection without sharing a mind and body.

Bakura did not react to any of this, other than to tilt his head. “Mind telling me what the fuck is going on?” He said eventually.

Ryou collected himself and released Bakura, looking at him more closely. Visually, the VR system was perfect. That was no surprise. Kaiba had started his work on holograms after all, and those were lifelike despite the disadvantage of projection. It still wouldn’t be good enough for Kaiba until he could stroke his blue eyes- wait, god no, that sounded like a horrible euphemism and Ryou dropped the thought before it got any worse.

It was strange looking at a mirror image of himself, reflected back differently. It was his own avatar, made for his body inside the simulation chamber, which was itself a prototype for the much more convenient home systems the hardware team was working on. There were a lot of moving parts to get together before launch, because all of this had to launch together- the game, the VR system itself, the new cards to promote it, the tournament- but that could wait. Right now, Bakura was here.

He was really here.

“Right, yes, of course.” Ryou laughed nervously, knowing it was best to skip the pleasantries but unsure how to proceed. “Since we’re both here, I’m assuming you and Marik figured out the plan.”

“Of course,” Bakura echoed back, crossing his arms sternly. Was he wearing a suit? Ryou couldn’t remember the last time he had worn that to work. His first day, maybe?

“Well… here we are. Welcome to KaibaCorp’s Crystal Cloud Network. Soon to be the home of Virtual Reality Duel Monsters- I think they settled on the name Duel Links.” Ryou gestured to the empty space around him.

“It doesn’t look like much.”

“Oh, I guess I better show you around. Okay, well first thing: You’re using my profile and avatar, so you have admin controls right now. I guess we better make separate profiles- I can do that later though.” Ryou lifted his arm, gesturing to it helpfully. “This is how you bring up the control panel. Pretend you’re wearing a duel disk.” Those would be sold along with the VR equipment, of course. At least when KaibaCorp released new duel disks, they always had a good reason for parting people with their money. The holograms got better every year, and the mechanics of dealing with certain card effects had to be updated constantly. And now that they were going digital, they needed a way of uploading the cards people physically owned into the network. Even though Ryou hadn’t been involved in any of that, he was proud to be a part of something so revolutionary.

Bakura raised his arm, looking over the holographic blue interface that coalesced around it, mimicking its plastic counterpart. “Interesting.”

Ryou thought it was interesting that Bakura raised his left arm. Originally duel disks were manufactured to go on the left arm, so that you could draw and play your cards with your right hand. Ryou had put up with it, but it was uncomfortable, and in his virtual playground he gave himself a left-handed control scheme because what was the point of being in charge if it didn’t have its perks? It looked weird to see himself with the duel disk on his dominant hand, but he supposed that was one of the many things that made them different.

“If you press the panel on your right- wait no, I guess it’s your left- closest to your elbow,” Ryou struggled to reverse the controls in his head, “you can customize your avatar. It reflects how you see yourself. If you want to be my evil twin that’s alright with me, but you’ll be here for a long time, so...,” he trailed off awkwardly.

Bakura looked down at himself as the mirage flickered, leaving someone different in his place. He was shorter, still lean but with broader shoulders that filled the drape of his red coat. His face was reminiscent of Ryou’s- a relative, maybe- but sharper, rougher. A scar ran down one grey eye, and the other looked lost as he scanned the backside of his hand.

Ryou decided his figurine had been pretty accurate after all. He still had it somewhere, hidden out of sight from judgmental eyes. He anxiously played with the string around his wrist. When mimicking something you had clear memories of in the real world, the digital world could trick your brain into making it feel the same, so it helped calm Ryou down a bit.

“This is what I looked like,” Bakura muttered, staring down at his old self. “When I was alive… this was me.” He looked like he wasn’t sure what to do now that it wasn’t a piece in a game, but an actual version of himself that he could choose to be, a life he could live out in earnest.

Ryou rushed through the second part of his tour. “Next to that panel are the environment settings. I have a lot of Egypt ones since I already made the model. It was kinda fun to make it like this. Different, I guess.” He wasn’t sure how accurate they would be, but maybe that didn’t matter.

Bakura poked at the holograms, eyes widening as a desert sprawled out around them, the sun low in the sky, sand swirling around their feet. Now that there was an actual setting to look at, everything suddenly felt more grounded. Ryou could feel the sun on his skin, the sand getting into his eyelashes, the dry heat he remembered from his last journey.

Bakura’s back was to Ryou, staring into the distant sunset, his red coat rippling like a sea of blood. Ryou understood why he wore it. “You made this? All of this?”

“Well, not just me,” Ryou amended. He was used to Kaiba Corporation taking ownership of his creations, but he liked to acknowledge the people that had gotten them were they were. “Someone else made the engine that runs the card games, and the Crystal Cloud Network is it’s own infrastructure… but yeah, the level design… I made this. For you.”

“Why?”

Ryou had been expecting this question. Bakura tended to doubt he deserved anything, because he had been told his whole life that he didn’t. Ryou twisted the string. “When Mom and Amane died, there was nothing I could do for them. In an instant they were gone from my life. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out how I could tell them goodbye. And when Dad left for his trips, I never knew when he would come back. But you… when you died, you didn’t really die, because you weren’t really alive. There was something I could do for once. I could help you. I could save you. I could bring you back.”

Bakura’s eyes did not register the feeling behind Ryou’s words. “That doesn’t mean you should have. All I do is hurt people, Ryou. You hated that. You hated me.” He looked away, still scowling. “You should hate me.”

How could he get him to understand?

“Hold on, let me show you something.” Ryou awkwardly accessed the control panel upside down on Bakura’s arm, finding the correct settings. “Look at this.” The sands of Egypt fractured around them, honeycomb textures that flipped upside down into a new scene: a small village bathed in gold and orange. But this time, it was still standing.

Bakura finally turned around, his teeth bared. “What is this?” He demanded, seizing Ryou by the arm. Ryou whimpered in surprise, feet skidding in the sand.

“It’s okay,” Ryou explained, going limp. It was no use struggling, and Bakura couldn’t hurt him here. “You’re safe. Nothing bad can happen.”

Bakura tossed him into the sand like an unwanted doll. “Was that your plan? To take me from the shadow realm just to torture me here? To get your revenge for everything I did to you? Fine. Have at me. There’s nothing you can throw at me that I can’t take.” He extended his arms outward, his stance low and back hunched, like a cornered dog.

Ryou’s head swam as he attempted to pick himself up. “I don’t want revenge, Bakura. The things you did while you were me were wrong, but they aren’t unforgivable. If nobody forgives anyone, we’ll all just be stuck in a loop of avenging our wrongs forever. Three years is enough time to heal some wounds and let some things go.”

Bakura didn’t seem to understand. “I killed people. There is blood on your hands that I put there. And I’m not sorry. I would do it all again, even knowing that I failed, because at least I got to see the pain on Pharaoh’s face when he looked at what I did to you.”

“You killed Pegasus,” Ryou argued, staggering up and brushing his sandy palms against his knees. “He put all of our lives- and our souls- in danger. The Pharaoh would have done a penalty game if he hadn’t been guilted out of it during the duel, you were just finishing the job. I was there too, remember? At least it was fast. At least his soul wasn’t tortured for eternity, and he wasn’t set on fire, or hallucinating, or any of the other horrible things shadow games do. He got to be with his wife again.” Ryou could feel how weak the excuses were- why was he excusing a murderer? Bakura was right, his friends were right- but he also believed it. What else could he say?

Bakura gave him one last look of disgust before turning his anger on the town itself. “You thought this dollhouse would pacify me?” He walked towards one of the buildings, pushing against the wall to feel the firmness of it. “Kul Elna is dead. You shouldn’t have brought it back to life. It’s dead, and so am I.” He kicked at it, disappointed when nothing happened. It was only then that he seemed to notice the NPC’s wandering around aimlessly, their undetailed programming more of an optical illusion than anything. They did not look like anything unless you payed attention to them, and only then did the mind make up something unassuming and forgetable that would fade away as soon as your attention was drawn elsewhere.

Bakura seized one by the collar, his face falling when he stared at it too long. Ryou didn’t know what he was seeing- it was different depending on the person- but the way Bakura looked at it was heartbreaking. What had Ryou done? How had he already messed this up?

“I just thought you would want your home back,” Ryou said.

Bakura let the NPC go, and it faded into the crowd as it was designed to do. “I don’t have one. And I’ve seen this place burn enough times to know that I shouldn’t get too attached.” He touched something on the controls, and before Ryou could stop him the scene exploded into fire and chaos.

Ryou had never actually been in a fire, but he had burned himself cooking many times, and it felt like that all over his body- only, it didn’t quite hurt. There was no parameter for pain in an engine that was designed for children’s card games. He couldn’t see through the smoke, and his eyes suddenly watered because that’s what they were supposed to do.

“Bakura! Please stop- It’s okay! We can go somewhere else, I’m sorry-” Ryou couldn’t find him, and the further into the town he tried to go the hotter it felt, the tingly not-pain itching at his mind. He hadn’t expected this to go downhill so fast, but if they could just talk, maybe go to a peaceful forest or something-

As the smoke grew thicker, Ryou’s breath suddenly felt sharp. The system would boot him out automatically if his vitals became dangerous, but he needed to stay here, to make Bakura understand, to fight off the instinct of panic when there was no real danger-

Ryou felt himself hyperventilating, his chest hurting with the pressure. Against his will his eyesight vanished, as if he had closed his eyelids, and the ping of the disconnect was a hollow sound in his ears. That was okay. He could calm down and log back in again in a minute. There were safety precautions for a reason.

His body felt sweaty and cold, and the hum of the air conditioner that was always a little too overzealous at its job reminded Ryou of where he was.

He blinked open his eyes, finding it difficult to calm down with all the unfamiliar stares directed at him. What had happened while he was out? Marik… right, he and Bakura came... together… and... Kaiba?

Oh shit.

Kaiba _knew._

Ryou was so fired.

“How do you know shutting down the machine won’t break something?” Marik was in the middle of complaining. The dizziness Ryou had been feeling hit him violently, and he clutched his stomach to keep from throwing up right then and there.

“Sorry to break up the little reunion, but you’ve wasted enough of my company’s time and resources.” Kaiba did not sound sorry. He stared directly at Ryou, eyes narrowed. “You and I need to talk.”

Ryou briefly considered pretending to be Bakura to get out of this, but it seemed like it would be more trouble than it was worth. “Kaiba, I can explain.”

“You will.”

Ryou climbed out of the pod, his legs unsteady on the ground. His body felt strange after he had been out of it for so long, like it wasn’t quite how he left it. Part of the problem was the clothes. Bakura really had dressed him in that suit. No wonder Kaiba knew it wasn’t him. They may as well have been caught the minute Bakura walked past the first security camera.

Without needing to be told, Ryou followed to Kaiba’s office, giving Marik a forlorn glance before closing the door behind him. He hoped Marik would stay put and not touch anything. If this was a chewing out session it wouldn’t take long for Ryou to come crawling back to collect his things. They could figure out what to do after that.

What was he supposed to do if he was fired? All the equipment, all the code- everything belonged to Kaiba. Ryou had only gotten away with using it for his own gain under the secrecy of his chosen field. Most people didn’t understand what his job even was, and therefore did not ask too many questions. And if they had, the truth was strange enough that it wouldn’t be necessary to give. But Kaiba knew. And now Ryou had to contemplate the biggest heist of the century, something to rival the Thief King himself if he was going to hack Duel Links post launch. But launch was still months away, and Bakura would need to be stored on something small and unobtrusive, and he may as well be locked in the Ring then, and didn’t Marik want the Ring back? Did Kaiba consider that his now too?

Ryou was so anxious he didn’t even notice when they reached Kaiba’s office. Something sounded like it fell off Kaiba’s desk, and he sighed, giving Ryou a look that said _leave and you won’t be coming back._ Ryou stood by the door obediently while Kaiba went inside to deal with the problem. The offices on this floor were right by the window, and Ryou watched the city below, wishing that his life could be as simple as the people who passed this building every day. He wondered if Bakura would be okay for however long this would take, fingers hooked tightly around his bracelet.

He heard another strange sound behind the door, and hesitated with his hand on the handle.

“Come in.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I have a lot to say about this chapter (I mean, my end notes are always long, but you know...) First of all, I'd like to apologize for my American-ness. When I was writing this part, I was suddenly struck by the fact that I know nothing about how offices work in Japan, and my idea of what it would be like to work at KaibaCorp might be... off, I guess? I like to think of it as being pre-localized, but idk how valid that is as an excuse lol.
> 
> Okay, second thing. You may be asking yourself: Why the hell is Aigami here? What even is this timeline? Well, let me try to explain. I wanted to make something post-canon that included elements from DSOD without taking all of it, because that movie creates more questions than it answers but I feel like the stuff with Kaiba and his space elevator and trying to get to Atem makes sense as an epilogue for his character. My editor/beta/friend OffbeatBeauty's [prideshipping fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14815121/chapters/34281620) is more specifically about that. All the stuff with the plana and Shadi is kind of a lot to try and deal with, so we ignored it. But I felt bad cutting Aigami out completely, so I made him a normal, not ghost boy with an office job. Hopefully that makes his character less confusing, instead of more. Idk if the fandom even likes him but... there you go.
> 
> Lastly, I hope that my explanation for what Duel Links is in this story made sense. I was inspired a lot by VRAINS and Transcend Game and decided to sort of mash all three together into a cool vr duel monsters thing. When the duel links game is released we will have card games, but for now Bakura is just on a private server in the network. There will probably be a lot of making up plausible technical terms and things but hopefully the suspension of disbelief will still be there. 
> 
> Oh, I also forgot to mention this in last chapter's notes but i'm still deciding on a name for Ryou's snake, so feel free to leave a comment with a suggestion. Or you are free to message me on [tumblr](https://ryokenkonami.tumblr.com/) if you want. When I wrote this it felt like forever when I got to Ryou again, I missed writing him. Even if I feel bad for him.


	10. In Which The Author Cries a Little

Bakura watched Kul Elna burn. He didn’t know how many times he had seen it; in the echo chamber of the Ring, behind his eyelids when he tried to sleep as Ryou, while in the grips of the shadows. It had to have been hundreds of times, and yet as he watched Bakura still felt a desperate, aching fury all over again. 

With a wave of his hand the fire disappeared, and Kul Elna stood vacant and perfect, untouched by time and reality. Bakura hated it. He hated that it could look like this, that Ryou was so willing to pretend it had never happened. Bakura had been through so much since that day, losing everything- even the names of the people he had been fighting for. All he had left was fire and ash, and nobody would take that from him. 

Watching it burn wasn’t enough. Bakura wanted to tear down the entire thing, ripping his way out of a fate he didn’t choose. The controls for the system were intuitive enough that he figured out how to play god quickly. Ryou was always building things for other people. Bakura wondered if he ever destroyed them. 

The Duel Monsters settings restricted many of the features, which he turned off immediately. Card effects were all pizzazz and show- gleaming anime sword slashes and sparkling electricity. Bakura wanted blood, and bones, and  _ pain _ . He wanted something familiar. Something real. 

At first he simply cut down the NPCs, but there was nothing satisfying about it. There was no heaviness of breath and limbs from the physical exertion, and since they did not fight back there was no struggle in it. The blood that hit the sand dissolved into pixels after a few moments, and he could not taste it in his mouth. 

Bakura had a terrible idea. He went into the character editor and made a hasty recreation of the Pharaoh, dripping with gold and self righteousness. Bakura sunk a knife into him dozens of times, his fury bright and bursting as he tore the Pharaoh apart again and again, each time resetting the character only to kill him once more. No matter how many times he did it, it was never enough. The Pharaoh was just a doll. A doll with realistically simulated wounds, maybe, but a doll, and Bakura couldn’t even savor the breath leaving his false body as he died one more time. 

Bakura stared at the knife for awhile, watching the blood dissolve off of it. This place was not the shadows. There was no feeling of some greater entity that contorted each memory into a nightmare until you had turned on yourself. There was no grabbing, drowning feeling. In fact, there was no feeling at all. This was a world without pain, without death. Bakura slowly drove the knife into his own body and felt nothing.

With no one to lash out against, Bakura’s fire soon dimmed into self pity. It was becoming a terrible habit. When he was angry, when he had something to fight, he was okay. But when he lost that, what did he have? He remembered Marik’s words.  _ Why do you exist?  _ Bakura didn’t know. He didn’t know, and he hated this, he hated Ryou putting him into this situation that was supposed to be better but it wasn’t because what was he supposed to do? 

He had lived as part of Ryou once, and for so long part of Zorc lived in him. Now he was alone, and Bakura wasn’t sure how to live with himself. There was no pain, and yet he did feel something like pain. Maybe it was just loneliness, but Bakura had been alone ever since he could remember, so he didn’t understand why it would make a difference now. It wasn’t fair.

Compelled by something he didn’t care to analyze, Bakura opened the character editor again, deleting the Pharaoh npc and starting with a blank slate.

Bakura didn’t even know what she looked like. He tried to guess- white hair, longer than his, softer face, kinder eyes, same color- but it never quite clicked. He had thought that maybe he would get a detail right and everything would magically fall into place, but no… this doll was a generic representation of a hazy memory, and the longer Bakura stared at her the worse he felt.

There was a pang in his heart for a childhood that wasn’t really his. Bakura didn’t remember his own mother, but Ryou did, and so Bakura remembered too, overlaying it onto his own life. He didn't know how to process what he was feeling except that he wanted the comfort and safety when wrapped in her arms, to know that whatever the problem was, she was there for him, had always been there for him every day of his life.

He tried hugging the npc, but it felt hollow and desperate and pathetic, and simply made the empty feeling inside him larger than ever. Even if the touch was there, nothing else was. He felt like Dark Necrofear, clutching a broken doll in his arms for no reason, a monster that fulfilled its full potential only when controlling a superior one. Bakura used to think of himself as a master manipulator, and the sadistic joy he got from turning people’s beloved monsters against them was almost enough to make him feel better about losing. Now he felt like Zorc had been the one pulling his strings, and Bakura had killed himself in battle time and again, his sense of control only an illusion.

Bakura watched dark spots form in the sand at his mother’s feet. It was strange. He always blamed Ryou’s body when he lost control of his emotions, but there was no one left to blame except himself. He was crying. And even that didn’t feel right. His eyes stung, and his cheeks were wet, but there was no upheaval of emotions, no body-shuddering sobs that released the tension inside of him, no feeling of relief afterwards. It was just drips in the sand, a sad doll, and a shadow of a person that had been slipping away for years.

 

*******

 

Marik sat at the desk chair for a while, spinning it in circles with his toes. He had been convinced to fly all the way back to Japan just to get ditched in one of Kaiba’s offices. His life was supposed to be more dramatic than this. Marik half expected an end of the world plot, some dragons, a shadow game- but no, it was all terribly ordinary.

Which would be fine, if Marik didn’t have a hundred things on his mind he was trying to avoid. At least when there were murderous card games being played he could worry about that instead. 

Ryou’s office was too quiet. That was the problem. He was relieved there was no one else here to bother him- gods forbid Yugi ever showed up- but Marik didn’t like being by himself in a place so empty.

Even worse, all the KC branded crap reminded him of Battle City, and Marik couldn’t quite get his mind off what had happened.

Marik owed it to Ishizu to come back with the Ring after all of this trouble. He had doubts he could sneak off with it if Kaiba wanted to keep it for whatever reason, but Ryou would let Marik take it. The problem was actually bringing the Ring back, explaining his actions, seeing the disapproval in his sister’s face that had become so familiar. It was only a small betrayal in the grand scheme of things, but that didn’t really matter, did it? Marik wasn’t sure if Ishizu forgave him for what he did before, and this would be another set back, another gap in this chasm between them. It was all so frustrating. He loved her, and she loved him, why did it have to be so hard?

And then there was Odion. Marik didn’t even know where to start with the guilt on that. He let Ishizu patch things up between them. As much as her mothering bothered Marik, it was her duty in the tombs to take care of others, and she was just as young as Marik when it was given to her. It wasn’t fair that everyone expected her to be a replacement mother for the one they had lost. 

Marik never believed that it was his fault his mother died. If anything, he hated the tombkeeper clan for forsaking modern medicine and allowing a woman to die in childbirth for no reason. Sometimes Marik wondered if his father would have raised them differently if his mother was there to soften his darkness. Other times Marik was glad she wasn’t there to be another victim to it, or to see what happened to her children. 

In the end it didn’t matter. Marik had Ishizu, and she couldn’t afford to make the childish mistakes of her brothers. She was supposed to be the responsible one, the mature one, devoted to the right way to do things. Of course Marik had no choice but to hate her when he broke free of his chains. She was a part of them, because it was the only way Ishizu knew how to be. But in the aftermath of Battle City, Marik felt like he had learned something vitally necessary, like his rebellion had been an important part of all of this, whether Ishizu could predict it or not. As much as Marik cherished his freedom, he liked the familiarity of home that lived inside of her. The good part, anyway.

Marik had apologized many times for his actions. He couldn’t remember Ishizu ever apologizing for hers.

That train of thought was going nowhere, so Marik cut it off abruptly, taking a sip of Bakura’s abandoned coffee. It was too bitter, but he liked it that way.

Bakura. That was the one thing Marik was trying hard not to think about, but it was impossible. Marik had come all this way for him.

How could he not? Bakura had done so much for him in the past. He had been Marik’s only ally when the world was against him. Marik hadn’t realized how important it was to have someone stand with him, even if they weren’t exactly friends. He had been busy. Too focused on his goals, and the stupid arguments, and how distractingly pretty Bakura was when he had that feral look in his eye even as he cut his own skin open. But after Marik failed him, Bakura did not waver in his loyalty. For someone who claimed to be all cunning and manipulation, Bakura didn’t like to risk those important to him. He wouldn’t risk Ryou for Marik, and he wouldn’t risk Marik for his alternate self, regardless of how convenient the arrangements might be.

Afterwards, Bakura forgave him. And for once, Marik believed in forgiveness.

And after  _ that, _ there had been that stupid game, the last challenge for the Pharaoh to overcome in the memory world. Marik was only a part of it because he was tired of destiny, and figured that if he played along for once, he could have his own life afterwards, free from the burdens of what was supposed to happen. But Marik’s fate had nothing to do with the outcome of the game. He wanted Bakura to win. He had even conspired with him once, though that too had fallen short.

Marik couldn’t help it. He didn’t like being told what to do. He didn’t like losing because fate or the gods or whatever had decided that he wasn’t allowed to have things his way. Bakura did everything he could to seize his fate into his own hands, and Marik admired his unbreakable determination. Even when he knew he was told no by the entire world, Bakura still tried to fight it.

Bakura was like a black hole that took over Marik’s thoughts and condensed them up into a messy ball of feelings. He didn’t know how he felt. He didn’t know what to do. Marik had taken Bakura’s soul this far, as promised. But he didn’t feel like a hero. He felt like an idiot.

The kiss didn’t help. Marik had wanted to do it for a long time, but there never seemed to be a good opportunity. And then Bakura died. And then he was alive again, and it just sort of happened. It had been satisfying, like getting away with something you’re not supposed to always was. His teenage desire had been fulfilled… but it was too much and not enough all at once. 

For someone claiming to be Bakura’s friend, someone who was going back to Egypt as soon as Kaiba turned his back, someone who was trying to cling to a normal life and not the craziness Millennium Items and ancient spirits invited, it was way too much. Marik had tried to move on from Bakura’s death, and while saving him from suffering was worth the trouble, this was not helping with Marik’s plan to avoid the past.

But for someone who was always dragged in by that dangerous smile, the only person worthy of tasting it, whose heart raced when they played with fire... it was not enough. How could it be? Bakura was something otherworldly, as strange and beautiful and terrifying as the Egyptian god cards. Marik could feel something greater behind Bakura’s eyes- that ancient magic, that knowledge that you were looking at a part of both history and the future. It had been the same with Ra. Of course Marik wanted to have him.

But Bakura was something Marik couldn’t obtain, Rod or not. And that was okay. He had been naive, back then, thinking you could control people like that. It was never that simple. 

More importantly, Marik had learned throughout their partnership that despite all his mystique, Bakura was also a person. A person with an extraordinary life, but a person, no matter how much he tried to deny it. People were not gods. They were not infallible just because you believed in them. What Bakura and Marik needed was an ally, and that was what they were to each other. That was all they could be. 

Ryou shared a different bond with Bakura. Something deeper, something Marik could not understand, something Marik could not be.

As stupid as he felt, Marik decided he didn’t regret the kiss. Bakura didn’t really care, and it was a stolen moment that would comfort Marik on the flight home. He could leave Ryou and Bakura here knowing they would figure things out together, like Ryou promised.

Speaking of which (or thinking of which?) Ryou reappeared. A little haggard, but it was not the look of a man who was fired. Marik took that as a good sign.

“What happened?”

Ryou could only offer a shrug, slumping into the office chair next to him in defeat. “It’s not important. I still have my job, and Kaiba won’t stop my project. That’s all I care about.” He looked forlornly at the VR chamber, then back to Marik. “When I got pulled out, Bakura was… upset.”

That sounded about right. Bakura could always find something to be upset about if he put his mind to it. 

Ryou sighed, sinking further into the chair. “You two always seemed more… Would you mind talking to him? If I went back, he would just get mad at me.”

Marik nodded. He had wanted to talk to Bakura anyway, to see if this digital world was all it was cracked up to be. It couldn’t be worse than the shadows, but it didn’t hurt to check. “What do you want me to say?”

“I just…” Ryou had a pained look on his face, like he was barely holding himself together. What had Kaiba done to the poor guy? “I want him to know that this is for him, not me. If there’s things he doesn’t like, I’ll keep doing updates. I’ll work on this system until it’s perfect. I just want him to be happy. I don’t understand why he’s having such a hard time.”

“Everything is twice as hard as it needs to be with him,” Marik explained sympathetically. He had gotten used to it, but clearly Ryou had not. “I’ll talk to him. No promises that he’ll listen.”

Ryou gave a weak smile. Marik didn’t believe it, but he appreciated the attempt.

“By the way, your weird coworker brought you those.” Marik gestured to the magazines on the ground as he went to climb into the VR chamber. He remembered how the setup worked with Bakura, but it was different being on the inside. He didn’t like the feeling of being trapped in something this tiny. It reminded him too much of a sarcophagus.

Ryou pressed something on the computer and closed the chamber lid. He rested his hand on the glass for a moment, mouthing a “thank you” before everything went dark.

*******

 

Bakura would find a way out of this place. He had traded one prison for another, and he would break out again. He always did. All he needed to do was stay patient, to endure, to wait for the right moment. Once he was used to the system, once he had pushed its boundaries and discovered its weaknesses and exploits, it would only be a matter of time.

Time had passed slowly in the Ring, and all at once. It was like a deep sleep, with only brief flashes of activity when someone tried to claim the Ring for themselves that was not meant to have it. Bakura had barely been conscious, and it was easier to be patient when time was so fleeting. But he had bided his time in Egypt to grow in strength, and accepted each of his losses with his new host as a necessary evil. In the end, his opportunity had arisen.

He had just wasted it.

Of course, there was the small complication that Bakura no longer had a body. But that hadn’t been much of a problem before. He would figure it out. 

There was a soft chime like a doorbell ringing, and Bakura felt a shiver as some of the energy around him seemed to gather into one spot, shifting until a new figure stood in front of him.

Bakura hadn’t been expecting anyone. He certainly didn’t expect Marik. 

“Why are you here?” He demanded, crossing his arms. Shouldn’t everyone be off celebrating now that they had gotten rid of him?

“Oh, you know. Just dropping by. Nice place you got.” Marik was dismissive as ever, looking around the desert landscape, his eyes widening with recognition and horror. “Kul Elna? Are you fucking kidding me Ryou? No wonder you were pissed, why would he…”

Bakura bared his teeth, more satisfied than pleased, more snarling than grinning. “He assumed I wanted to play pretend.”

Marik shook his head, his blond hair catching the afternoon sun. Bakura missed the reflective shine that usually came from his gold, but Marik still knew how to make an entrance. “This is a nightmare,” he muttered, then collected himself. “Alright. Well, other than  _ that,  _ how are you doing?”

Bakura grunted, turning his head away. Somehow he felt less human than the millennia spent sleeping inside the Ring, more disconnected from his body than when he was sharing Ryou’s. But Marik did not need to see the weakness in him. 

Marik bit his lip while he thought. Bakura kind of hated that, too. It was hard to pay attention to the actual words he said next. “This place feels weird. It’s more… real than I was expecting.” 

_ Real _ ? How could this feel real to Marik when Bakura felt like he was losing himself? “I always knew you lived in a delusional fantasy,” Bakura scoffed bitterly. “This must be like home to you.”

Marik gave Bakura’s avatar a full inspection, his eyes lingering on the finer details. “Fantasy is right. There’s no way you looked like that 3000 years ago.”

Bakura sputtered indignantly, caught off guard by the abrupt change of topic. “Why not?” He demanded.

Marik approached him, pointing to his exposed stomach. “Look at those abs, man. There’s no way you looked like that when you were stealing to survive. A kid who eats whole raw onions would not be this ripped.” His grin betrayed his intent. Marik was just trying to get a rise out of him. 

And yet Bakura couldn’t help responding to his nonsense.

“I was the Thief King,” he said firmly, crossing his arms. “I stole more than enough to provide for myself.”

“Then why’d you end up so short?” Marik was close enough to him now that Bakura had to look up at him to glare. Ryou was shorter than Marik, but Bakura’s original body was shorter still, and Marik was enjoying that fact way too much.

“I am not short,” Bakura retorted. “People used to be shorter back then. I was tall for the time period, in fact.” 

Marik snorted. “You’re adorable when you’re lying.”

Bakura growled, lunging at Marik to tackle him. Marik tried to hold him by the shoulders, keeping Bakura at bay with his superior arm length, but the height difference was not enough to keep Bakura from knocking Marik off balance and onto the ground. Sand and dust kicked up around them as they wrestled for control. 

Bakura’s survival reflexes kicked in and he scooped up a handful of sand, its heat almost burning his hands as he tossed it across Marik’s face and climbed on top of him.

Marik made a sound of distress as he squirmed underneath Bakura, fighting to keep his arms from getting pinned. “Get off! you got it right in my eyes, fuck.”

Bakura let him go, leaning his weight onto his knees to release Marik. He sat there in the dust, rubbing his eyes for a moment and complaining under his breath.

“It’s not like it hurts,” Bakura muttered, brushing off his coat and shaking out his hair.

Marik coughed, blinking a few times as if he hadn’t realized that until now. “You acted like I was trying to kill you.”

“Force of habit,” Bakura said, his knees scuffed from the sand. It wasn’t actually hot, he realized. At least, not enough to be uncomfortable, much less burn. That also felt fake. It wasn’t as if Bakura  _ missed _ the harshness of living in the desert, but it just… didn’t seem right. 

Marik had a look on his face like he was debating teasing Bakura more, but wasn’t sure how far to push it. He dipped a finger in the sand, swirling slowly in a random pattern. “I can’t believe he made all of this for you.”

Bakura refused to respond. He didn’t want to have this conversation. If they were going to abandon him, they should just leave already. Why pretend this was anything different? Why come here just to bother him?

“Ryou told me he would keep updating it, adding new things to make it more realistic. He said he just wanted you to be happy.” Marik’s gaze flickered up to his. Now that they were sitting near each other rather than standing, their eyes were at the same level. “He’s trying everything he can, Bakura.”

Bakura didn’t believe it for a second. This was all for profit, plain and simple. Kaiba apparently didn’t have enough money, and so he’d rake in some more making a game that was like real life without the messiness. Ryou was just doing his job.

He stared back at Marik, meeting his eyes with a challenge. Marik didn’t really buy all this, did he?

“Fine, whatever. I just came to say goodbye,” Marik said, pouting a little. He did that a lot when he didn’t get his way. Bakura hated how often he ended up looking at Marik’s mouth.

“Leaving so soon?” There was no playful edge to Bakura’s voice this time. He was tired of that game. “And here I thought you were thrilled to be spending time with me.”

Marik hesitated, eyes downcast. There was still sand stuck in his eyelashes, and Bakura resisted the urge to brush it away. “I have to go,” Marik said seriously. “I have to bring the Ring back to the museum.”

“No.”

Marik raised an eyebrow. “No?” he repeated.

Bakura leaned forward, ready to fight Marik again. “It’s mine,” Bakura hissed through his bared teeth. The Ring was made from the bodies and souls of his people, and he couldn’t even hold onto it anymore now that he was trapped here. Marik didn’t really think he could just take it and run off, did he? He couldn’t just leave.

Not so soon.

“I know, but-”

“I already have nothing!” Bakura interrupted him, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Look at me Marik. What am I doing? Who am I? Why do I exist?” He threw Marik’s own question back in his face, hoping it would make him understand. “The only thing I have left of my old life, of this version of me, is the Ring. It has no power left, but I don’t need it’s power. I need…” Bakura grasped at the nebulous feeling inside of him, but couldn’t come up with an adequate explanation for it.

Marik sighed in defeat, his hands coming to rest on top of Bakura’s. The touch startled him, drawing Bakura’s attention to the fact that he had clenched his fists around Marik’s shirt. He let go abruptly. Marik caught his wrist before Bakura could pull his hand away, touching the duel disk hologram that hovered above it.

“I was going to show you something. I don’t know why I thought it would change your mind. It won’t, but I guess I’ll still...” he fiddled around in the menus before figuring out how to pull up a web page. “This is what Ishizu is working on at the museum.”

Bakura scowled. So what if the museum had the Ring? It would just be sitting behind a glass case anyway, that was no more worthy a purpose than around Bakura’s neck. “Why should I care?”

“I agree that the Millennium Items should never be used again. They’re relics of a dark time in our history, and have caused more harm than good. But they can't be destroyed, so we can only put them somewhere safe. Once the security system is updated they can be displayed.”

Bakura didn’t want to discuss it. There was no discussion to be had. The Ring was his, and he would be damned if Marik of all people took away the last fragment of himself he had held onto through all of this torture.

“Bakura, you’re not even looking.” Marik sighed, rubbing one of his eyes with the back of his hand, the other remaining firmly around Bakura’s wrist. “I just wanted you to see that the point of this- collecting all the items back up again- wasn’t grave robbing, or another power grab. Its for education. The display talks about what happened to Kul Elna, that the Pharaoh’s advisor had it’s people killed to create the dark magic of the Items. So the legend goes. I don’t know if people believe in magic anymore, but the point is your people aren’t forgotten. History will remember them, even though they’ve moved on. That wouldn’t be possible without you. Nobody knew the truth until you. You honored them in death, and that’s the most important thing.”

“But I don’t remember their names,” Bakura’s voice cracked, as little sense as that made. All he could think of was those NPCs, as lifeless and empty as his memories. “I don’t even remember my own name. I sold it to Zorc and lived in darkness for thousands of years for  _ nothing _ .”

Everything he had ever tried to accomplish had amounted to this.

To  _ this _ .

Marik tugged on his wrist, pulling him closer, forcing Bakura to look at him. The hologram between them gave Marik's skin an odd blue shimmer. “It wasn’t for nothing. I know you believe all that ancient Egyptian stuff about the afterlife, but I truly believe your people are in a better place, and you need to let them rest. The village’s name will be remembered. And if nothing else, you’ve helped me and Ryou, right?”

Bakura ripped his arm out of Marik’s grip, the hologram flickering until it disappeared. He didn’t understand why everyone was acting like they wanted him around. It didn’t make any sense. “All I've ever done is make your lives more miserable. I drag people down with me.” 

“You know that isn’t true. You’re my best friend. I only did all of this because I care about you.” A smile pulled at the edge of Marik’s lips, and why did Bakura’s attention always have to be  _ there? _ “Everyone thinks I’m better now, but I’m probably still insane.”

“Clearly,” Bakura answered automatically, Marik’s smile widening in response. Bakura looked at him longingly, lost for a moment on what to say. Instead he placed his hand tentatively on top of Marik’s, fingers sinking between his, knowing that would be enough. 

Marik only replied to change the subject. “I won’t take the Ring against your will. It’s yours. But it will be safer in the museum. They’ll all end up there eventually. Except for the Puzzle.”

“Figures.”

Marik rolled his eyes in agreement. “Based on what I’ve heard from Ishizu and Kaiba, they’re still fighting over it. It’s as hilarious as it sounds.”

Bakura still felt on edge, but it was a familiar kind of worry. “I wish I was back inside the Ring,” he admitted. “I lived there a long time, it was more of a home than this.”

“I don’t think that counts as living,” Marik disagreed, pulling his hand away to brush some stray hair behind his ear. “But you could make it, right? You can change this to whatever you want. If I were you I’d make all the sports cars and yachts I wanted and never get bored. You clearly don’t have enough imagination for this.”

“Is that a challenge?” Bakura asked, but his heart wasn’t quite in it.

“This is me trying to get you to suck it up and stop being so cranky about technology most people would be crazy about. You can do anything you want, and you’re just moping around feeling sorry for yourself.” 

Marik got up and dusted himself off, blocking the sun from his eyes with one hand while looking for the logout in the glare.

“Wait.” Bakura hated the desperation in his voice. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m starting to feel dizzy,” Marik complained. “I’m not used to the VR so apparently it takes some adjusting. I promise I’ll come back, okay? And I won’t run off with the Ring. You can trust me.”

Bakura felt a familiar spike of anger and latched onto it. “Since when? When have you ever fulfilled a single promise to me?”

“I guess this will have to be the first.”

 

*******

 

Ryou was waiting for him when Marik pushed open the pod, his breath too quick in his throat. For a second he thought he was having a panic attack, but after Ryou assured him it was a normal side effect Marik calmed down enough to see he was right. 

Ryou looked tired. He always had a kind of wariness to him, and the dark circles under his eyes were a feature of his face that Bakura shared, but this was different. “How did it go?”

Marik felt like he was going to throw up, but that was apparently nothing to be concerned about. It occurred to him that he hadn’t eaten anything this morning, which probably didn’t help. “He was angry,” Marik said nonchalantly. “What else is new.”

Ryou gave him a worried glance, not quite buying his casual act. “You really think he’s going to be okay?”

“Bakura can be stubborn, but he’s not  _ impossible _ .” And besides, Ryou was acting like this was all on Bakura, and not highly his own fault. “It might not be so bad, but you threw him into the middle of the worst thing thats ever happened to him, what the fuck did you expect?”

When Marik ran the Ghouls, it had demanded a certain level of understanding. People were not so simple that you could just take up residence in their mind uninvited. He had to offer something in return, to understand their desires and bend them to his will. 

He had learned- rather quickly in fact- that people were at their most vulnerable when they had a complete lack of control. Helplessness was the root of every fear he saw in the hearts of his servants. To push them in the direction he wanted, Marik had to take their freedom slowly, to trade it for what they wanted until they were his. Arkana had lost his family. That was something he could not control, and had left him open to Marik’s influence. But what he really wanted was attention, an audience, to feel important. That was the key. Once Marik gave him that, it didn’t matter to Arkana what he was actually doing, as long as someone was watching. Thus Marik’s suggestions became commands, as with all the ghouls.

Marik shivered a little at the memory. He didn’t want to think of Bakura as one of his pawns. But what other way was there to make someone do what you wanted? What if it was for their own good? 

“I didn’t mean to,” Ryou said miserably. "I was just trying to help."

Whatever. Marik didn’t have the Rod anymore, and this was a different situation. Bakura didn’t like doing something if it wasn’t his idea. He’d get over it eventually. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. You just have to be patient. He’ll come around.”

“I wish I had your confidence.” Ryou paused, then nodded to himself, deciding something. “Will you stay with me?”

“What?”

“The reason why I did all this was so that Bakura could be happy. As long as we’ve known each other, things have been complicated. There’s been resentment, and regret, and its… messy. But you give him something I can’t. I think if you stayed, you could help him adjust to the idea of living again while I update the system.” There was a familiar desperation in Ryou’s face as he once again asked Marik for help. “He needs you.”

Marik just stared, at a loss. “What do you want me to do?”

“You can stay at my apartment with me. There’s plenty of space. And I could pay you for testing KaibaCorp’s experimental tech.” Ryou was out of breath, rushed in his plan. “You can come with me to work and check up on him, and when we switch you could keep an eye on him at home-”

“Woah woah, hold on.” Marik’s head was swimming, his vision blurred at the edges. “When you switch?”

“Part of the problem with the VR is that the sensations aren’t quite realistic enough yet,” Ryou explained. “A lot of it is tricking your brain to create sensations for you, and you can’t trick the brain into feeling something you’ve never felt before. And I think, as realistic as I make it, there’s some things I won’t be able to do that I don’t want him to miss out on. So we’ll switch. I’ll let him borrow my body again to go do fun things with you out in the real world, and test my system while I’m inside it. And when I’m needed at work, we can switch back and he can see how he feels about the updates, until he’s happy with it.”

Marik wondered if his dizziness was solely from the VR. “You know how crazy this sounds, right?”

“So?” Ryou scrunched his brows. “I’m offering to pay you to play videogames and go out every night. That’s like, the dream.”

“You know the Ring is running on empty,” Marik reminded him, his concern genuine. This seemed like it would cause a lot more problems than it would solve. “I give it a few months at most before it’s unusable. Are you willing to risk that?”

Ryou played with the bracelet hidden underneath his cuffs. “I wouldn’t force Bakura into an existence I would hate,” he said, voice soft. “If our roles were reversed… Once I fix the VR… it will be fine.”

Marik shook his head. “I was going to bring the Ring back.”

“You still can,” Ryou assured all too quickly. “But just… stay, for a little while. Everything will be better this way.”

“I’ll think about it,” Marik offered, unwilling to argue in his current state. He just wanted to lie down.

Ryou seemed to notice his predicament and rushed back behind his desk, offering Marik a bucket. “You’re taking this pretty hard,” he noted sympathetically. “It affects people differently… do you wear prescription glasses? I can re-configure the settings for you.” 

Ryou’s gentle demeanor in the face of having someone throw up in his office was kind of funny. Marik didn’t feel like laughing, but he accepted the bucket. “You keep this in your office?”

Ryou looked away, slightly embarrassed. “The janitor told me to keep it after a rough test run. She’s really nice…”

Marik left it alone. “So… I guess I’ll just… go then.” 

Ryou looked nervous at the suggestion. “Um… did you take the train here?”

Not exactly. “I drove,” Marik responded vaguely, waving his hand.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Ryou said gently. “Why don’t you stay for a bit until you feel better?”

Marik didn’t feel like arguing, and Ryou was probably right about trying to drive while feeling this sick. He laid back down in the pod, closing his eyes and willing his problems to stop mounting into a bigger and bigger avalanche that would collapse on top of him. 

The next few hours were quiet, with only the sound of Ryou’s typing to soothe him. Marik considered his options as his stomach settled. He still couldn’t believe he had gotten himself into this mess. This wasn’t supposed to be difficult. Save Bakura from damnation? Check. Get him into Ryou’s crazy computer like some sort of low budget movie on the syfy network? Check. Bring the Ring back to Ishizu… not check.

He promised her that he would. It killed Marik to go back on a promise that important, but he didn’t see how he could fix this without pissing off someone. It felt wrong not to bring it back.

But it was wrong to take it from Bakura too. It was his item, the only reminder he had left of who he was. It was his only way out.

If he did as Ryou requested, staying in Domino to test the system and keep Bakura sane through all of this and retrieve the Ring later, Marik was afraid of what would happen. If he went home right now, he could try to forget about Bakura, about the consuming impulse to kiss him when it was least convenient. He could go back to a life that was uncomplicated and not his decision.

But he liked it here. He liked being able to decide what to do, to be as free as he had been when he broke out of the tombs and took his fate into his own hands. He liked getting into trouble with Bakura, the back and forth arguing- and sometimes, if the mood was right, the deep conversations they had in the middle of the night when their souls were restless. He liked the idea of being needed, or maybe just wanted, being a lifeline for Bakura to hold onto in his neverending turmoil until they could make a better future for him.

But what if it got more complicated? What if Bakura decided he didn’t like his gilded cage? What if Ryou’s work friend learned the truth about his little side project? What if Kaiba got tired of their shenanigans and kicked them to the curb? What if that feeling Marik had when Bakura held his hand above the flame came back? 

He couldn’t… It was just... there was no future in this. Everything about this situation was moment by moment, which was why Marik found it so exciting in the first place, but he couldn’t live the rest of his life not knowing what the fuck was going on. He and Bakura were friends and Marik wanted to be there for him, but...

The truth was, Marik was clinging on to the past just as much as Bakura and Ryou. They made quite the team.

He would stay for now, but the apprehension in his mind would likely never go away. At some point, something would go wrong, and Marik needed to be here when that happened.

He just hoped it wouldn’t be his fault.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing Bakura. I love writing angst. And even though I often make myself sad, I never really get that upset. I hardly ever cry when I read books either, the only thing that gets me is movies and I suspect half of that is the music's fault. But for some reason, throughout this whole fic, this was the moment I actually made myself cry. Just a little bit, but thats pretty significant for me. Ever since I planned this story out, I knew I wanted Bakura to throw a tantrum when he first enters the VR, and kind of have his lowest moment. I was always fine with that, it needed to happen, and we can only go up from here. But actually writing it out was... rough. That being said, I figured I would put the sad part at the beginning of the chapter, to give everyone time to recover and see how Marik's influence does genuinly help Bakura feel better. And I introduced the somewhat weird concept of the rest of the story. So hopefully that helps.
> 
> Also, sorry this chapter was a bit late. I live in a different state than my family, and my brother came to visit me this weekend, so I've been kinda busy. When I get to the next chapter I'll let you guys know if I need to switch to bi-weekly updates, right now i'm not sure. I feel bad for not updating on a regular day, but it is what it is. At least I update more consistantly than my editor and friend OffbeatBeauty, who never frickin writes her [prideshipping](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14815121/chapters/34281620) fic unless I yell at her enough times. I mean... uh... motivate? Well, whenever she gets to the next chapter I'll throw in a link for you guys since it will include Kaiba yelling at Ryou, in case you're interested in how that conversation went. Otherwise since my boy got neglected this chapter he will star in the next one to do damage control. 
> 
> If you love being sad or hate me for making you sad, feel free to leave a comment! Or you can talk to me on [tumblr](https://ryokenkonami.tumblr.com/) if you want.


	11. In Which Ryou Has Regrets

Considering everything that had happened, it was understandable that Ryou was completely drained. After convincing Marik not to touch anything, he slipped out of his office to find some solitude in the only place he could reasonably expect it: hiding in the bathroom. 

Once he was sure he was alone, Ryou stood in front of the sink, splashing cold water on his face. The sensation brought him back to himself, grounding him in the reality of the situation. 

He needed this to work. There was no other option. After years of planning and effort and loneliness, Ryou had to believe that he could make everything work out in the end.

He thought that living inside a video game would be fun. He thought that saving Bakura would fix some sort of karmic injustice. He thought that Bakura would be better off and have a life he never knew he wanted surrounded by people who loved him.

But maybe he was wrong.

The fact of the matter was, somewhere along the line, Ryou had fucked up. He had tried to plan for every outcome, to ensure the best possible chance for success… but it had spun out of control in the span of just a few hours. All he could do now was focus on damage control, and try to hold himself together.

Honestly, Ryou just wanted to go home, back to a life where things weren’t so complicated. He had wanted that ever since he left years ago. He desperately missed the days when he would walk Amane home from school and the house smelled like whatever mom was busy cooking and they would find a board game on the shelf to play while they waited for dad. He missed the cranky old tomcat that would hiss at him when he walked down the alleyway, he missed the sound of Amane’s bike bell chiming as she frantically tried to warn everyone of her reckless steering, he missed the way it felt to be young and looking forward to each new day. Ryou could still picture every room in that house, and the nostalgia he felt for it was painful, the same ache he felt when he missed the people who had lived inside of it.

Ryou still owned a lot of things from his family- his mother’s jewelry, his sister’s dolls, his father’s writing desk- but it wasn’t the same, and he never had the heart to look at them for more than a few minutes before shoving it all aside again. Sometimes he wondered if it would be different if they still had that same house, exactly as everyone had left it. If Ryou could walk through each room, practically see the ghosts of his family lingering there, maybe it would give him some sort of closure, some sort of peace. But dad sold the house and ran away, and Ryou needed space to be alone and angry and fragile.

Ryou couldn’t let Bakura go like that. Ryou couldn’t handle the continuous lack of closure on each chapter of his life. He needed to _do_ something. He needed this to work. And it didn’t, and that was all his fault, and now Ryou had no idea what to do.

He thought about Marik when they explored the tomb, how terrified he had been, how easily he twisted that fear into anger. Clearly Bakura felt the same way about his own home. Ryou didn’t understand it. Ryou was so desperate to cling to whatever he had left of his family, and Bakura still wanted to keep the Ring and Marik still wore his makeup, so how did they all feel differently about this? He knew this would be hard, but… Bakura was similar to Ryou in a lot of unexpected ways, and he had thought…

Well, it didn’t matter what Ryou thought anymore.

He took a deep breath, exiting the bathroom with what he hoped was a confident stance. He just needed to get through today, and then… he would figure something out. As Ryou approached his office door, he spotted Yugi peeking inside. Suddenly launched into panic mode, Ryou raced over, trying to think of a reasonable explanation for Marik’s sudden appearance.

“Hi Yugi!” Ryou greeted with mock enthusiasm, dread building in the pit of his stomach. He and Yugi had been working together for a long time, and they were close friends, and he trusted him… but he didn’t have the heart to tell him about Bakura just yet. He wasn’t ready for that conversation, and Ryou convinced himself that he could always wait to tell Yugi until after the game launched or something, when all of this was further along.

“Oh, I was just looking for you,” Yugi replied, looking Ryou up and down. “Um, what’s with the outfit?”

Ryou silently cursed Bakura for wearing the one thing in Ryou’s closet he didn’t like. “I had to talk to Kaiba today and I thought I’d try looking professional for once.” Ryou laughed politely and unconvincingly, rubbing the back of his head. “I should have known it wouldn’t work. He’s in quite a mood today.”

Yugi nodded, still appraising him somewhat.

“Did you need something?” Ryou prompted, trying to wedge himself in the doorway. If he couldn’t close the door, he could at least try to block the incriminating view.

Evidently it was too late for that. Yugi nodded towards the office. “Are you actually dating Marik?” His voice was soft and polite, but there was no small amount of bewilderment in it.

“Oh, god, no!” Ryou responded automatically, wondering what the hell Bakura could have done to make everyone think that. Some of the scenarios that flitted through his mind were far worse than others. “Why would you say that?”

Yugi shrugged, laughing it off. “I dunno, I ran into Aigami when I came in and he started asking weird things about you and I-”

“What? What did he say?” Ryou felt his stomach flip. Maybe it would be easier to explain Marik’s presence if they pretended to be dating, but he had already said no, and fuck Ryou was not the liar that Marik was how was he supposed to get away with this he should just confess to everything this was way too stressful-

Marik swiveled in one of the desk chairs, rolling his eyes. “I’m right here, guys.”

Ryou’s gaze darted to Marik, then to the device the Ring had been placed on, relieved to find that it had been removed. Thank god Marik was clever enough to hide it, Ryou had no idea what he would do if it had just been laying out in the open.

Yugi waved, not meeting Marik’s eyes. “It’s been a while! What brings you to our floor, then?” Luckily, Marik was much better at this. He leaned back in the chair, calm and composed, nodding slightly to Ryou as if to say _I got this_. “Well, I’m sure you are aware that Kaiba and my sister have been arguing over the phone pretty much constantly.”

Yugi nodded. “He argues with everyone over the phone. Or through video calls. Or in meetings. But I think phones make him angrier.” He shook his head with a fond smile reserved only for old friends. Or rivals. Whatever Kaiba was.

“Well, I’m not sure how much I can reveal about that- but let’s just say I’m here to smooth things over.” Marik gestured to Ryou. “Since I’ll be here for awhile, I figured I would catch up with friends, and Ryou was even nice enough to offer a place to stay. I still think that’s way too generous.”

“I really don’t mind,” Ryou insisted, uncomfortable at how fast his heart was racing. “I like the company, and there’s plenty of room.”

“You like the company?” Yugi repeated with an eyebrow wiggle, which earned him an elbow to the chest.

“Yugi, come on,” Ryou pleaded, not in the mood for playful teasing today. Yugi put his hands up in surrender, always the first to let something go and ease up on his friends.

“Well, that’s very nice of you Ryou. We should catch up! I’ve been waiting to hear about your trip. Maybe all of us...” Yugi glanced at Marik, “can hang out..?”

“Sure thing!” Ryou sat back down at his desk, hoping Yugi would take the cue to leave. “I’ll just finish up what I was working on and we’ll head home. I’ll talk to you after the meeting tomorrow like we planned.”

Yugi nodded, too trusting for his own good. Thankfully he closed the door behind him when he left, giving Ryou the space he needed.

He breathed a sigh of relief, leaning back in his chair. Marik had taken the only comfy one, unfortunately. “I am so screwed.”

“I think you did alright,” Marik said, unconcerned. “I’m assuming nobody knows except Kaiba?”

Ryou nodded. “I have to tell Yugi, but it’s… not a good time. We’re under so much pressure to release the game…”

“What, you don’t want to tell your best friend that the ghost that possessed you and tried to kill him is back, and it’s your fault?”

“That part I don’t think would matter. It’s more the fact that I actually like him and want him here. That I can forgive what he did when they can’t.” Ryou shook his head.

“Well if it makes you feel any better, apparently I have to spend time with a bunch of people I tried to kill, so that’s going to be fun.” Marik grimaced. “Seriously, why does Yugi want to catch up with me? Please tell me he isn’t bringing Joey.”

“We play Monster World together on thursdays,” Ryou supplied. “So if you live with me you’ll either have to conveniently have plans every time or join our campaign.”

Marik dropped his head to the desk. “Just kill me now.”

“Hey, it’s a fun game.” Ryou turned his attention back to his computer, cracking his knuckles. “I really should finish this. If you’re feeling better, you can head on home before me. You said you drove anyways, and I take the subway.” He fished around in his stupid fancy pants pockets for keys. “By the way, where did you put the Ring?”

Marik opened one of the desk drawers, pulling it out unceremoniously. “It’s a good thing Yugi is so short, otherwise I think he would have seen me.”

Ryou gave the Ring one long, lingering look. It was so strange to know that this object that had held a part of himself for so long was truly empty, its task fulfilled. “You should take it. I totally forgot about leaving it out in the open and… I know you’ll keep it safe.” Ryou offered Marik his keys, pushing the Ring towards him.

Marik hesitated to take them from Ryou’s outstretched hand. “Do you really want this?”

“What do you mean?”

He shifted awkwardly. “You know… me living with you, you swapping with Bakura… do you really think this is a good idea?”

“It’s the only thing I can think of that will work,” Ryou admitted, trying not to let his disappointment show. “ I guess we’ve always been dysfunctional… You and him have something that works. And I need this to work. So I need you. And he does too, more than ever.”

“It’s been a long time since I lived with anyone else,” Marik said, taking the keys. He played with Ryou’s keychains, contemplating the statement.

Ryou smiled encouragingly. “Me too. We’ll figure it out together.” He couldn’t say that he knew Marik that well, but it felt like this could be something good for both of them.

Before Marik left, Ryou added, “I hope we can honestly say that we’re friends.”

Marik shrugged, wry smile on his face. “Something like that.”

 

* * *

 

Ryou closed his laptop lid with a final _snap,_ shoving it into his computer bag. He had managed to catch up on some of his neglected Duel Links workload, but he’d probably stay up all night working anyways, so he may as well just head home and make sure Marik was all settled. He was looking forward to changing into pajamas.

As Ryou closed the door, he heard a familiar sound of wheels attempting to roll over carpet. Before he could turn around Mokuba crashed into Ryou’s side, wrapping him in a hug.

“You’re back!”

Ryou threw an arm around him, returning the embrace. “I’m back!”

“So how was it? Did you get cursed? Did you find any magic cards? Did you get me something?”

Mokuba was still as excitable as always, but there was a distracted quality to him. He was busy balancing working and doing school online, and he had never been afforded the luxury of a carefree childhood despite his brother’s best efforts, but he tried to make up for that by enjoying things whenever possible. Which today evidently included heelies in the office.

“I did get you something.” Mokuba detached himself from Ryou, and he was a little stunned to see how tall Mokuba was compared to him. The boy would likely inherit his brother’s genetics, and half the office secretly hoped Mokuba would end up taller than Kaiba one day, but Ryou didn’t like the idea of being shorter than his tween boss. That situation was weird enough as is.

He and Yugi didn’t mind being overseen by Mokuba, and in a way Duel Links was more his project than Kaiba’s, his way of proving his worth to the company and to the people who doubted him for his age. Honestly the kid worked harder than everyone else, with all of his obligations and appointments and trying to handle KaibaCorp’s social media image on top of all of that. It was no wonder he always seemed distracted and a little out of place amongst his age group.

Ryou dug through his bag, trying to find his tacky souvenir. “So you remember how for your birthday we made you that simulation game? The one with the dragon?”

“Yeah, duh,” Mokuba responded, one hand impatiently on his hip. “It’s more of a proof of concept for the engine than a game.”

Ryou ignored the comment. “Well, I got something you and your brother will both appreciate.” He pulled out a replica of the museum he and Marik had broken into only a few days ago. “This is where Ishizu works,” he explained, handing it to Mokuba.

He turned it into his hands, looking for some sort of catch. “Yeah..?”

Ryou held open his office door. Mokuba slid inside, and Ryou followed behind, pointing to the flat glass surface on his desk. “Place it right there.”

Mokuba set the museum replica on top of the glass, watching with scrutiny. He was a lot harder to please these days than he used to be. Ryou turned on the device.

“This thing scans whatever you place on it with these-” He pointed out a few of the “cameras” mounted above them, “And creates a 3D rendering of it. I think someone mentioned they were trying to get it to work with just blueprints as well, which is pretty awesome.”

Mokuba looked a little annoyed at the reveal. “That’s not _that_ cool,” he muttered, crossing his arms.

Ryou sighed patiently, removing the replica and turning on the simulation game that wasn’t really a game. “It’s cool because you can scan in anything and load it up into the game and make the dragon destroy it,” he explained, using the museum as an example. A holographic Blue Eyes made quick work of the museum as Mokuba watched.

His young boy’s appetite for destruction adequately sated, Mokuba smiled, fiddling with the controls. “Okay, you’re right. That is cool. But we need more dragons! And more buildings!”

“We do. But I’m sure that next time Ishizu calls, if you show your brother this, it will cheer him up a bit.”

Mokuba laughed, but there was that distractedness again, and it worried Ryou. “Yeah… thanks.”

“No problem.” He knew that if there was something Mokuba wanted to talk about, he didn’t have a very good outlet. His brother already had a lot to deal with, and didn’t seem to be the most sympathetic person. Mokuba had friends at school, but they wouldn’t understand his life very well, and most people would blab to the media if they had gossip on either Kaiba. If the problem had to do with Kaiba himself, Mokuba didn’t have anyone except Ryou, because Yugi would probably try to fix it rather than just hugging the kid like he needed.

Ryou felt the most lonely at times like this. In the years he had spent working towards getting Bakura back, time seemed to have passed him by in a blur… except for when he noticed how much Mokuba had grown up. Everyone else felt… static. Unable or unwilling to change, even as the future loomed in front of them. But Mokuba was a reminder of what they had been not that long ago. What Amane could have been, if fate had been kinder to her. Ryou loved him for that, even if it hurt.

He ruffled Mokuba’s hair the way only Kaiba was allowed to. The boy ducked his head but didn’t seem to mind.

“Well, I’m headed out for the night. Unless you want to go somewhere first? We could get milkshakes,” Ryou offered, giving Mokuba another chance to open up, or at least get out of here for awhile.

He made the dragon rip off a corner of the building with its teeth, shaking his head. “That’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

There was no doubt about Mokuba becoming a teen now. As much as it worried Ryou, he had faith that things would be okay, in the end. Ryou always did.

 

* * *

 

When Ryou got home, he found a horrified Marik sitting in front of his computer, frantically clicking the mouse.

_“I really want to enter this tournament, but I don’t have any money~”_

_“Oh, I’m sure we can work something out-”_

Marik must have found a way to click out, because the sound cut off there.

Ryou popped his head around the corner, confused and a little concerned. “What was that?”

Marik had the most guilty look on his face Ryou had ever seen. “I was going to use your computer but when I opened it there was porn everywhere.” Marik refused to make eye contact with Ryou. “Why is there card game themed porn. Why did I have to see this.”

Ryou’s face turned red immediately, and he crept over to the laptop as if it were a live bomb. “I knew I should have changed my passwords. Bakura still remembers them,” he said darkly, holding the laptop to his chest. “You would not believe the viruses he used to give me. I should just get him his own computer.” He made a mental note to order one tomorrow. Not that it would stop Bakura from trying to wreck his stuff, but if he changed all of his passwords it might _slightly_ dissuade him.

“Riiiight, it was all Bakura’s fault,” Marik said teasingly. “Ryou would never do something like that.”

Ryou flushed an even deeper red. “If I was going to- hypothetically, I mean- I wouldn’t leave the tabs open like that. I work in the tech industry, what do you take me for-”

Marik still looked suspicious, and Ryou felt like he was going to die. What a great way to get to know your new roommate. “How did you even log in without a password?”

Marik shrugged. “It didn’t ask me for one.”

“See? Because Bakura used it, not me. I would never stay logged on, and I would never… that’s just… you couldn’t close the window from all the viruses, that was the point, so… yeah,” Ryou ended awkwardly, resolving to give this terrible computer to Bakura and keep the new one for himself so he didn’t have to deal with this.

“Do you have something against videos? Instead you have yaoi manga under your bed, or an ao3 account?”

Ryou ignored Marik’s attempts to further embarass him, tossing the plagued computer onto his bed and slamming the door, as if that would make a difference. “So, have you unpacked your stuff?” He asked brightly, changing the subject as hard as possible.

“I didn’t bring much, so… yeah, I guess.”

Great! This wasn’t awkward at all!

“Okay. I’m going to make dinner,” Ryou continued smoothly. “Did you already eat?”

Marik shook his head. “No. Do you… want me to help you..?”

“My kitchen’s pretty small,” was Ryou’s polite way of saying no. Without the computer in front of him Marik just sat at the table. Ryou tried to ignore him while he cooked, to let go of the stress of the day and actually enjoy the task. He liked making tonkatsu when he had a hard day, both because it was a comfort food and because pounding out the pork loin helped get out some of his pent up feelings.

Instead Ryou ended up cutting himself while chopping cabbage, because nothing could go right today. As he stomped to the bathroom to get a bandage, he noticed that Marik left the Ring sitting on the table next to him, like a second dinner guest. It was weird, but Ryou was bleeding and had left his pork in the oven so there wasn’t much time to contemplate it.

He quickly fixed the wound, gauging whether he needed to buy more medical supplies for Bakura before running back to the kitchen. All that was left was the sauce, but with the cut on his hand it was awkward to grind the sesame seeds. He struggled for a bit, wondering if he should give Marik the job or just skip the sauce altogether, but then the oven was beeping and the moment had passed.

“It’s ready.” When Ryou poked his head around, this time Marik was looking through his cards.

He felt a pang of something in his chest, but he ignored it and placed Marik’s plate in front of him, sitting down on the other side of the table. Ryou never sat in that spot since he was always by himself, but he felt weird asking Marik to move, so he didn’t.

“This is my mom’s recipe,” Ryou said conversationally, trying to dispel some of the weird tension. “It’s baked instead of deep fried, so it’s a lot easier to make, plus its healthier.”

Marik stared down at his plate.

“Do you um… want a fork, or are chopsticks fine?” Ryou asked awkwardly, realizing he should have asked earlier. He had travelled a lot in his youth and experienced all kinds of foreign foods, but it had been a while since he’d been away from home, which made him… forgetful.

“I don’t eat meat.”

“Oh.” Ryou shook his head, wondering how he had become such a terrible host. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize-”

“It’s fine.”

Ryou felt bad for not asking regardless. “Is fish okay? Oh, or I could make curry tomorrow, I think I have everything…”

“It’s fine,” Marik repeated.

They ate in silence, Marik picking at his cabbage and Ryou evaluating his numerous regrets in life. It was fairly soon that Ryou was getting up to collect the dishes, relieved it was over.

“Bakura told me these were your cards,” Marik said eventually, sliding them over to Ryou.

He paused, sitting back down in his chair, holding them. It had been a long time since Ryou had the strength to look through them.

Marik rose instead, collecting the dishes and placing them in the sink, giving Ryou the space and time he needed. He took a deep breath and thumbed through them, holding back the weird emotions bubbling inside as Marik hovered around him.

“Do you ever feel bad for them?” Ryou asked, not lifting his gaze from the cards. Marik could see over his shoulder. All the cards he had fanned out in front of him were 3 stars or lower. “The monsters that only exist to summon a better one?”

Marik might have made a comment about how they were just trading cards, but they both knew that wasn’t true. “It's what they’re made for,” he said.

Ryou nodded. “Yami and Yugi always acted like the worst thing you could do was let your monsters die on purpose, or take control of someone else’s. But thats what my cards were made for. They’re most useful to me when they’re in the graveyard. I don’t think they would be upset by that.” He held the cards gently, as if they were fragile somehow. “In Monster World, sacrificing the life of a friend to continue the adventure never pays off. But Duel Monsters is different. The entire point of the game is weighing your options and knowing when to let your monsters go. I built this deck so no matter how many monsters I lost I would always have a strategy to keep going.” Ryou found Necrofear in the deck. “When I lost her, she would come back even stronger. And if she stayed in the graveyard rather than coming back, I could activate Destiny Board. She had no weakness. How could that be a bad thing?”

“I think people are afraid of you because you’re clever,” Marik said unexpectedly. “Even without Bakura, behind those innocent eyes is something knowing, and knowledge is dangerous. And your cards _are_ kinda creepy.”

Ryou smiled. “I like the creepy ones. I just wish I got to play them.” He placed them all neatly back into his deck, setting it down on the table. “What about you? Do you still play?”

“Not since… you know. I don’t even have a deck on me anymore.”

“In Domino? I’m pretty sure that’s illegal somehow. One of these days I’ll take you to the card shop and we can throw something together for you. It’s worth a try, right?”

“Yeah… I guess I could try.”

Comforted by the small amount of peace they had obtained, Ryou changed into his pajamas, deciding it would be better to get some sleep after all. As he was brushing his teeth Marik appeared in the doorway, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that actually covered most of him.

“I’m almost done,” Ryou tried to say around his toothbrush.

“Can I ask you something?”

Ryou nodded, getting a mouthful of water.

“What is that thing on your wrist?”

He spit, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. “I used to wear the Ring around my neck. This was what it was hanging on.” Ryou thumbed the knot that had tied it to him for years. He had no idea where the string came from, or how old it was, and he doubted it had anything to do with cursed golden magic. But it was all he had.

“I thought it was a friendship bracelet.”

Ryou laughed. “I guess it is.”

Marik didn’t say anything for awhile, only speaking up when it was his turn to use the bathroom. “I’m going to help as much as I can,” he said seriously. “Tomorrow is going to be better. I need you to believe that.”

Ryou, somewhat taken aback by the statement, could only dip his head. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s better off without me. Maybe I can’t-”

“Ryou. You don’t have to do it by yourself.” He offered a hand, which Ryou shook, still a little uncertain.

“It’s going to be better,” he repeated, taking comfort in Marik’s certainty. Whatever mistakes he had made, he could still fix them.

Marik smiled, shaking their linked hands again. “Now, Yugi said something about you _enjoying company,_ so should I sleep on the couch or in your bed?”

Ryou ripped his hand away, blushing all over again and shoving Marik out of the way as he exited the bathroom. “You can sleep outside,” he shot back, trying to hold back the playful smile that wanted to break loose.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry this took me so long to post. Life got crazy and a bunch of stuff happened- my brother came to visit, work upped my hours, I had to move in to my new apartment, and school is starting soon, to name a few- so I really didn't have time to write. In the future i'm going to try and update every other week, since that seems manageable with all my new responsibilities, but shit happens, so you know. Thank you to everyone for sticking with me, commenting, and being invested in this story. When I started writing it, it was a super weird idea that I thought only I would like, but i'm glad other people are enjoying it too. Speaking of weird interests, I've been getting a lot of random emails of people leaving kudos on my proshipping oneshot, so thanks for that too? 
> 
> Anyways, I know a lot of the responses for the last few chapters have been "Ryou why" so hopefully this explains his point of view a bit. Writing Ryou is weird because there's not a lot of him in the source material, so I have to make a lot of assumptions and shape him into a character who would fit into this sort of narrative- he has to be the kind of person that would want to save Bakura, while still being flawed and interesting. I love him a lot, even if he did make some bad decisions. I also wanted to establish his relationships with other characters like Mokuba, and his burgeoning (if awkward) friendship with Marik, which was fun to write. And every time I picture Bakura just clicking every shady link he finds to mess with Ryou's stuff out of pettiness, it makes me giggle.
> 
> As always, shoutout to OffbeatBeauty for reading over my stuff before I post it. Not gonna lie, I totally forgot about the Millennium Ring on the first draft, so thanks for remembering that it's kind of a big deal lol. I don't know what I would do without you! She's writing a [prideshipping](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14815121/chapters/34281620) fanfic that follows the same timeline as this one, and even though you don't have to read both of them to understand what's going on, it offers an interesting perspective. For example, when I wrote Mokuba in this chapter I had to keep in mind that he had just had a fight with his brother, which we don't see here but affects the conversation we did see. So if you're interested in stuff like that, maybe check it out. She's worse about updating than I am, which says a lot, but I live with her so I promise I'm trying my best to motivate her. And as always, feel free to leave a comment or talk to me on [tumblr](https://ryokenkonami.tumblr.com/) about card games. I may get very into the symbolism behind card games, but at the end of the day I like playing fiends because I like being mean :p


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